A Hand
by thecouchcarrot
Summary: Dean/Cas, multichapter, slight AU. Dean's busy trying to re-soulify his brother, but Cas needs help. Maybe it's time Dean gave it to him. Ch. 15: Dean glared indignantly. "I find the term 'lovebirds' to be offensive. We prefer to be called 'sex-falcons.'"
1. Chapter 1

A/N: _Hey, everybody! Did ya miss me? Didja? _

_*crickets* _

_Oh. Well. Anyways. I did National Novel Writing Month and wrote an awful, terrible novel - much worse than any fanfiction I've ever written, that's for sure. BUT, I still wrote a novel in a month and for that I am proud. Someday, that hulking pile of a mess may be rewritten into something readable. However, in the meantime I returned to my literary version of comfort food - Dean/Cas. A little angsty with some humor and hopefully tied up with the fluffiest of fluffy bows. I don't know where this particular story is actually going, and updates will likely be very, very slow (I'm in the last two weeks of the semester at college), but I'm happy to be back in my element. Enjoy!_

_Oh, and please review. Your feedback is like the sweet ambrosia of the gods to me, and has been scientifically proven to increase my typing speed by 20 percent.*_

_*By "scientifically proven", I mean "in no way empirically supported"._

* * *

Dean stood under the showerhead and let the hot water run down his back. He wasn't washing, just standing, just – being. He closed his eyes, and pressed a hand to the cool tile on the wall.

Having a soulless brother was tough. It was almost worse than not having a brother at all. At least back then he knew that he was alone, that Sam wasn't there to back him up. Now – he was never sure. Dean had thought he couldn't trust him after the demon blood debacle; now, he was afraid that the second Sam was out of his sight he'd be murdering civilians and kicking puppies. He was a friggin' sociopath, and he wasn't Sam, and honestly, Dean just needed to lock him up and keep him from fucking them both over until he got his _real _brother back.

Couldn't lock him up, though. He was too strong and too smart. He'd just break out, and then he'd be pissed, and who knew what he'd do.

It frightened the hell out of Dean.

It was relieving, actually, to admit that. Dean was scared out of his goddamn melon of what Sam might do. He was on guard every second, always keenly aware of where Sam was in the room and what he was doing, like he was in the middle of one big hunt and Sam was his oversized, hyper-intelligent prey – who could easily become his predator. Funny thing was, Dean knew exactly who he wanted by his side in this kind of situation, who he wanted to be waiting in the car outside, who he wanted backing him up and pulling the last-minute rescue out of his ass, and it was his brother.

These days, Dean never missed Sam more than when he was staring him in the face.

Made him feel a little better about the fact that Sam had waited a year to see him, though. Kid was soulless. Of course he'd been able to stay away that long. On the other hand, Bobby had no damn excuse for keeping him in the dark. Gave him some shit about not wanting to interfere with the family Dean was building…

Lisa's voice echoed in his mind. _As soon as he walked in the door, I knew. _

Dean clenched his jaw, and his fingertips dug into the grout. _Are we that fucked up? Are we really so goddamn toxic to each other that I can't have Sam _and_ a life of my own?_

In his heart of hearts, he knew the answer was yes. As long as he and Sam were alive, they were going to drag the other wherever they went, back and forth across the earth like two dogs playing tug-of-war. Because neither of them could let go of that damn rope, not ever.

Sam was dragging him to hell and back, and Dean wouldn't let go.

"Hello, Dean."

His eyes snapped open.

There, standing mere inches away in the spray of the shower, his tan trench coat getting completely soaked, was Cas.

Dean jumped backwards and barely avoided slipping and cracking his head open. "The fuck!" he swore, grabbing the shower curtain and clutching it to himself in a fit of modesty. The water was spraying everywhere but he didn't care. "Get the fuck out of my shower!"

Cas held his gaze, cocked his head ever so slightly (totally unbothered by the rivulets of water streaming down his face), and asked in the least sincere voice ever, "I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?"

Oh, that little bastard. He knew _exactly_ what he was doing. He'd been around the block enough times to know that it was not okay to sneak up on Dean naked and he'd done it purposefully just to _piss him off_. Dean wasn't sure just when he'd learned sarcasm, but he recognized it well from that dystopian future he'd glimpsed where Cas referred to him exclusively as "our fearless leader."

Seething, Dean turned off the water and groped for his towel. He wrapped it around his waist and used his hand to wipe the water off his face.

Cas, of course, was instantly dry.

"Is there something you wanted?" Dean demanded. "Or is it too much to ask for five minutes of peace?"

"You were in there for half an hour," Cas noted dryly. "I got tired of waiting."

Dean felt his eyes widen. "You were _watching me?_" he asked incredulously.

Cas frowned. "No. Well, not the entire time."

Dean growled and poked his finger in Cas's chest. "Look, I've had quite the week. I was abducted and nearly probed by _fairies_ while my brother nailed some alien groupie and _then_ I got beat up in my jail cell by an invisible _homeless dude_ and _you _didn't lift a damn finger. So whatever it is you want, you can just shove it. I've got bigger problems on my plate."

Cas's eyes hardened. "Why is it my responsibility to be your personal bodyguard? In case you haven't noticed, Dean, _you_ are the one constantly asking favors and _I _am the one who is perpetually expected to supply them!"

"Because that's how our relationship works!" Dean exclaimed, gesticulating in exasperation with his hands. "I need help, I have problems, you have angel mojo, you help fix them. Trust me, if I had any kind of freaky superpowers I would pay back the favor, but I don't. So I really don't see what you expect me to do!"

Cas narrowed his eyes, stepped forward and into Dean's personal bubble, and said evenly in a low, gravelly voice, "Oh, I think you know _exactly_ how you can pay me back."

Dean stared, and for a second his brain stopped working.

_He can't – _

_Is he seriously implying that – _

_The shower_ –

Finally he managed to choke out an insanely disbelieving, "_What?_"

"The weapons stolen from God's armory," Cas continued tersely. "I need you to help me track them down."

_Oh, of course._ Dean mentally breathed a huge sigh of relief, and every muscle in his body relaxed. He'd just doing what Sam always accused him of and confusing porn with real life. Of course Cas hadn't been implying that. It was friggin' _Cas_.

"I am _losing_ the war in heaven, and if Raphael kills me, I will no longer be able to, as you say, 'fix your problems' with my 'angel mojo.'" He used the same air quotes that he'd whipped out when they were working on that plague case, and it almost distracted Dean from the seriousness of what he was actually saying. "I have already given you so much more than you can ever hope to repay, so don't act as though _I'm _the selfish one here."

"Cas." Dean ran a hand through his mussed, wet hair and rubbed his neck. "I want to help you, I do. Raphael is a total dick, and nobody wants him running the show, especially me." He glanced past Cas to make sure that the door was still closed, and lowered his voice. "But Sam doesn't have a soul, and Crowley's trying to extort us, and the two people who saw me through one of the hardest times in my life think I'm a monster. I am _just _as royally fucked as you are, the sand is running _just_ as fast through my hourglass, and _my_ life is my priority right now. I'm sorry, but I can't help you."

Cas's face fell, and his brows furrowed upwards, making his blue eyes sad and pained. "Dean. You know that I wouldn't come to you unless I'd exhausted all my other options." He reached forward and put an imploring hand to Dean's arm, his fingers falling squarely on the scar that he'd left there years ago. "If you have ever considered me a friend, then believe me now when I tell you this: I _need_ you."

Dean's heart thumped painfully in his chest, and he was acutely aware of Cas's hand on his bare skin, acutely aware of the point Cas was making with it.

_I gripped you tight and raised you from perdition_.

Sam knocked on the door. "Could you guys hurry up in there?" he called. "I need to use the facilities."

"Alright, alright," Dean yelled. He turned his attention back to Cas, and sighed. "Sam and I will look into it, okay? But I'm not making any promises."

"Thank you." Cas released his arm, and his eyes regained their cold distance. "I didn't expect anything more." And he was gone.

Dean stood there for a moment, dimly aware that a puddle had formed around his feet, and wondered what he'd ever done to make Cas act so damn slighted.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: _Oh, I love you guys. I really do. I forgot how nice it was to get reviews on my work, and boy it is _nice_. You all say such wonderful, beautiful things in your reviews and it makes me all happy and fuzzy inside and everything is so wonderful that I even forget for a moment that Jensen Ackles is married. _That's how awesome reviews are.

_With that in mind, I beg and plead you to review this, my second chapter in my first fanfic in several months. Hopefully it's not... terrible? _

_Also, I want to apologize, because the idea behind reading Dean/Cas is presumably to read about Dean and Cas having sexytimes, but thus far my story is woefully bare. It's just that frankly, the characters aren't quite ready for that. I try and coerce them, but they have minds of their own, and right now Dean and Cas won't even _consider_ naughty business until their friendship is fixed some more. However, the goal of this story is to get to that wonderful place where they lock lips and profess undying love, so if you hang in there, you _will_ be rewarded. _

_Finally, I definitely wrote the first chapter before seeing this Friday's episode, and the episode was Cas-heavy and totally relevant to the boys' relationship with him. I considered writing the rest of my story like it never happened, but I really liked some of the stuff that was said and expressed, so instead, this chapter takes place just after the end of the episode "Caged Heat." _

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Sam was gone, really gone.

And for the first time since he'd left for Stanford, Dean didn't think he'd come back.

He always thought he'd come back.

Dean sat on the curb outside his motel room and closed his eyes. He still wasn't sure if that was necessary, but it was traditional, so. Couldn't hurt. He wasn't doing the hand-claspy stuff though, not in public. _Cas_, he prayed silently. _ I need to talk to you, right here, right now_._ It's important. _

He peeped out of one eye.

Nothing.

He huffed a laugh and swore under his breath. That son of a bitch. He bothers to stop in and kick the hornet's nest that was Soulless Sam and then won't even give Dean the time of –

"What?" Cas barked.

Dean tucked his arms deeper into his leather jacket. "Sam left."

Cas looked disappointed, but not surprised.

"You got anything to say for yourself?" Dean demanded angrily.

He looked bewildered. "Why would I?"

"Because it's your fault!" Dean snapped.

Cas frowned. "I don't understand."

A muscle in his jaw twitched as he tried to restrain himself. "Sam left because you opened your big fat mouth about what condition his second-hand soul might be in! Thanks to you, he's decided he's better off without it, big surprise there."

Cas stepped forward, his face dark. "I didn't say anything to Sam. It was Crowley who –"

"Crowley doesn't matter!" Dean interrupted furiously. "With Crowley, there woulda been some kinda doubt. I mean, the guy lies every time he takes a breath. But Sam overheard _you_. It was you who had to go spouting some bullshit about, about him _surviving _–"

Cas stepped closer, his frown turning into a glower. "It wasn't bullshit. It's the truth."

"Truth my ass!" Dean spat. He grabbed Cas by the lapel, as if he could keep him from flapping away now that the conversation was getting heated, and lowered his voice to a seething hiss. "You don't fucking get it, do you? If Sam doesn't get his soul back, you don't understand –" His nostrils flared and he bowed his head for a brief second, pressing his lips together, trying to get the words out, the words he swore he'd never say.

Cas's eyes were fixed on him, following his as he looked down at the pavement. He waited.

Dean swallowed hard and clenched his fist tighter in Cas's coat, forcing himself to meet that goddamn blue gaze and not break. "If I can't get his soul back, I can't just let him _survive_, you understand me? He's too dangerous, too volatile, too good of a goddamn killing machine." He shook Cas and tried to ignore the stinging in his eyes. "You fucking get me? You fucking _get me?_ If I can't get it back –" His voice cracked, and his goddamn lip betrayed him and quivered around his gritted teeth. "_I_ have to kill him."

In Cas's eyes was a mixture of horrible understanding and profound pity. "Dean –"

"Don't say a _word_," Dean choked, shaking him again. "Don't you _dare_ –" And he bit back a strangled noise in his throat and shoved Cas away from him, couldn't remember why he'd been hanging on that long in the first place, blindly stumbling back into his motel room where no one would see him cry like a goddamn fucking baby girl.

He picked up the alarm clock on the nightstand, yanked it out of the outlet and hurled it into a wall because hell, _he_ wasn't paying for this room. Then he kicked it and stomped on it and smashed it into tiny bits and when there was nothing left he was just kicking the wall over and over until he gave up and gave in and slid down to the floor and sobbed into his knees so hard his shoulders shook.

He wanted to kill Cas.

No, that was wrong. It wasn't his fault. He was shooting the messenger. He wanted to kill the devil, then Michael, and then maybe God. He wanted to kill his grandfather and kill Meg and kill Crowley again and kill every last demon on the entire motherfucking planet. He was just about ready to kill everybody.

The only person he didn't want to kill was Sam.

"Dean."

Dean kept his head buried in his arms and ignored Cas, because this was too damn humiliating. He instantly flashed back to the first time he'd cried in front of Cas – he was in that hospital bed, bloody and broken, and Cas told him that he'd been the first seal.

God, that seemed like a lifetime ago.

"You don't have to kill Sam."

Dean looked up.

Cas's eyes were anguished and bright, his mouth pulled downward in pain, like when he talked about losing the war in heaven. "If it comes to that, if you ask it to be done – I will do it."

Something tore in Dean's chest.

After a long moment, he whispered hoarsely, "Cas, why are you here?"

He blinked. "You demanded to talk to me."

"No, I mean –" He wasn't even sure what he meant. "Why are you _here?_"

Cas just looked at him for a minute, just long enough for Dean to wonder if he was ever going to speak, and then he finally answered, "Like you said, Dean. We're friends."

Something caught strangely in Dean's throat.

Cas looked downward at his hands, as if he were thinking about Dean's words.

Dean gazed at Cas's hands too. It was weird, but he'd never really looked at those hands before. Long, smooth, fingers. Jimmy's fingers. The hands of a man of God, in the service of an angel who did God's dirty work.

He sighed and let his head rest on the wall. "I've been a total shithead to you," he said.

Cas turned his eyes upward.

"Granted, you've been pretty douchey too," Dean continued. "But. It's not just you, it's Bobby, it's Lisa, it's – I can't see past my own problems, you know? You talk about this war in heaven and it's – pretty fucking abstract to me, and sometimes I forget that you've been dealing with a lot bigger problems, and some of the same problems…" He pinched the bridge of his nose and chuckled bitterly. "And you come here, and you offer to gank Sam so I don't have to, and. It sounds really fucked up, but I guess I… I wish I could kill your brothers for you. And I'm sorry that I can't."

Cas nodded slowly. "Thank you."

And then he was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N:_ Oh my God, I apologize DEEPLY for the length of time it's taken me to get you guys a new chapter. I'm in the throes of finals week (only one more to go, hooray!) and though I technically had the time to write before, I didn't have the space in my brain to think about anything other than sociology and criminology and Iceland. And what's even worse, this chapter is SHORTER than normal! Good Lord, I am like the fanfic author of your nightmares. Believe me, I never meant to do you wrong; I love you all so, so dearly and appreciate every single review I receive to the depths of my being. I'll try to be better in the future - just give me a second chance, baby, and I know I can change. _

_In related news, everyone who reviewed is like a rock star riding a flame-breathing bear sculpted out of chocolate. You're _that awesome_. (Is the entire tableau chocolate? Is just the bear chocolate? How does it breathe flame if it's made out of chocolate? Wouldn't that melt it? ALL THESE TROUBLING QUESTIONS MAY NEVER BE ANSWERED.)_

_Finally, I did it again - I worked the latest episode into my story. Apparently that's my thing now? (No it's not.) In any case, from here on out the story will be strictly AU because it's winter hiatus and I am definitely finishing this story before new episodes air. Also, this chapter is from Cas's point of view, which means I refer to him as Castiel the entire chapter, which was extremely difficult to remember to do. I hope you all enjoy! _

* * *

The next time that Castiel was able to return to Dean, he found him sitting at the table in his motel room, idly fiddling with a ring and lost in thought. His father's old journal lay open beside him.

"You still have the rings," Castiel observed.

Dean glanced up, startled. His eyes weren't a vibrant green today, more hazel brown and mottled. Castiel had always found the color of Dean's eyes interesting. But his face – he looked apprehensive, nervous, a rare expression for Dean. He nodded, and returned his gaze to the ring. "Yup. Didn't really know what else to do with 'em but keep 'em."

"Why did you call me here?" Castiel asked.

Dean cleared his throat and licked his lips. "I need you to hold onto this for me. Keep it hidden for a while."

Castiel frowned and stepped forward. There was something Dean was concealing from him. He wouldn't meet Castiel's gaze directly and he pursed his lips slightly after his statement – a gesture that in anyone else could have been mistaken for contemplation, but which Castiel knew from experience signaled a half-truth. "Why?"

Dean stood up from the table, pushing the chair back with his legs. "Look, I don't want to get into it, but Death might come looking for it, so uh. Just put it in some kinda angelic hidey hole, alright?" He held the ring out to Castiel.

Castiel didn't take it. "Dean," he warned. "I shouldn't have to tell you that bargaining with Death is not only _monumentally _stupid –"

Dean rolled his eyes.

" – but also impossible. You can't summon Death, and he could be literally anywhere in the universe."

"Yeah, well , if he's not comin' to me then I'm comin' to him," Dean snapped. He grabbed Castiel's hand and shoved the ring into it. "Now take this so I have at least one reason for him to send me back!"

Dean's dogged persistence in treating Castiel as though he could be physically overpowered would have been laughable if his words hadn't been so disturbing. Castiel grabbed Dean's wrist and forced the ring back into his hand, using more force than was probably necessary. "Tell me what you're planning right now," Cas threatened darkly, "or I will destroy the ring myself."

Dean visibly struggled with himself, and then relented. "I talked to some people, and I found this guy my dad used to go to when he got hurt," he explained. "Doctor. He specializes in the, you know, _weird_, and… he thinks he can take me under and bring me back."

Castiel squinted and tried to understand what Dean was saying. "You want him to kill you so you can speak with Death?" he demanded.

"_Temporarily,_" Dean emphasized. "But basically. And then I'll offer Death the ring in exchange for Sam's soul."

Castiel sighed and closed his eyes. "I already told you, Dean, Sam's soul –"

"And I already told _you_," Dean growled, "I don't care. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Other than that, Castiel really had no valid objections. He could argue that Dean was more likely to be greeted by a reaper than Death himself, but Dean already knew that. He could tell him that any deal with Death would be stacked heavily against him, but if he hadn't learned that from experience already, than there was no point in trying to teach him now. He could remind Dean that he had cheated Death several times already, and this time he might find the condition a little more permanent.

He could tell him that it would be very painful for him if Dean died, because Castiel was likely to be cast out of heaven by Raphael and they would be separated for eternity.

But Castiel knew that Dean wouldn't listen. He already had that stubborn set to his jaw and a cocksure steadiness in his gaze. He couldn't be dissuaded. He'd made up his mind.

And yet – Dean was afraid. He'd called Castiel because he needed help, and because he was frightened of what he was about to do. Castiel could feel it thrumming in his veins, his heart beating at a heightened pace and his breathing just a little uneven. Belatedly he realized that he was still clutching Dean's wrist.

Slowly, he released Dean, and held out his hand.

Dean's eyes darted to his hand and back up to his eyes in surprise. Hastily he unclenched his fist and dropped the ring in Castiel's open palm.

Castiel curled his fingers around it, and put it with his sword. He would take it somewhere hidden and unknown. "Be careful," he said quietly.

Dean let out a short laugh and let his head hang a little, his thumbs in his pockets, before turning his eyes upwards. A rueful smile tugged across his face. "You clearly don't know me."

Castiel felt a strange emotion possess him, something protective and warm and burning and akin to the way Meg had felt against his body. He had learned a lot about human displays of sexuality from the pizza man, but only those displays that were crude and hungry. He had learned nothing of real love or affection. So to express this feeling, he instead decided to imitate another person who felt a great deal of affection for Dean.

He leaned forward, put one hand to Dean's face, and kissed him softly.

Dean made a choked noise and froze.

When Castiel stepped back, he was still frozen, his face a complete wide-eyed blank. Castiel wondered if he recognized Lisa in the kiss, and that was what caused his confusion.

And then he felt embarrassed, even though he wasn't sure why, and he left before Dean could ask him what he'd meant by it.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N:_ To make up for my completely dumb taking-too-longness of late, I wrote this chapter for y'all super fast! Not that I didn't put as much time and effort into this chapter as I normally do, because I did. In fact, this is probably my most edited chapter yet for this story. It's also extra long! Let me know what you think of it - please, please review. Reviews are to me what pie is to Dean. You will make my entire day brighter by reviewing. _

_Those of you who have already reviewed, I hope you are enjoying your melted chocolate bears. In hindsight, the flames were ill-advised. This time, everyone who reviews is like a flying dragon-beast ending world hunger with a litter of kittens clinging to its back scales. _That awesome_. (Is the dragon _using_ the kittens to end world hunger, or are they helping him? Are they but hapless passers-by caught up in a whirlwind of humanitarianism? Will they not fall off when the dragon takes flight? ALL THESE WORRISOME QUESTIONS WILL MOST DEFINITELY NEVER BE ANSWERED.)_

_Enjoy the show! _

* * *

"Cas," Dean called, bracing himself for – he wasn't sure what. He had no fucking idea what Cas would do next. "I need the ring back."

A clatter sounded on the table behind him.

Dean turned and saw the ring tumble to a stop. That was it. No angels in sight.

He took the ring uneasily and glanced toward the ceiling, wondering if it was wrong of him to feel so relieved.

….

Sam had been comatose for about three hours now, and Dean was panicking. He paced the floor of Bobby's basement, knowing exactly what he had to do and absolutely loathing the idea of doing it with every fiber of his being.

He had to call Cas again.

But the last time he'd seen him, the dude had fucking _kissed _him! And okay, if he was completely honest with himself, it hadn't exactly been – bad, per se. In fact, there was a small but persistent corner of Dean's brain that kept bringing up how surprisingly nice it had felt, and there was another big sarcastic corner that kept making jokes about getting touched by an angel, and there was even the tiniest itty-bittiest little girly cranny that could still feel Cas's thumb brush across his cheek.

But that was besides the point. The point was, he was traumatized, but he would live, and no one else had seen it happen so they were golden. But if Cas showed up at Bobby's house carrying a cardboard box and playing bass music, Dean was going to have to change his identity and leave the country.

So yeah. Calling Cas was the last thing he wanted to do right now, but it was his only option.

"Uh, hey Cas," Dean mumbled under his breath. "Sammy's not wakin' up, and… I could really use your help right now."

He waited.

Cas didn't show.

He snorted. _Typical. Love 'em and leave 'em, eh Cas?_ Then he smirked proudly to himself. _Well, at least he learned _something_ from me_.

Only, he remembered Lisa's voice the last time they'd spoken, and suddenly it wasn't so goddamn funny anymore.

Maybe that was why this whole Cas thing had him turned around and upside down – he was lonely, missing Lisa, getting confused. Sam had turned on him and attacked Bobby and it was a stressful time and it wasn't his fault if a few signals got crossed. He glanced toward the panic room, where Sam was sleeping.

Not sleeping - unconscious. Big difference.

The look in Sammy's eyes, when Death had been about to put his soul in – the pleading desperation, Sammy begging Dean not to do it –

But no. It wasn't Sam without his soul. The real Sam, Dean's brother, he was all heart, all compassion, all love and dedication and empathy and all that crap Dean had always given him shit for but secretly knew was the foundation of their brotherhood. Without his soul, he was just an empty vessel. A robot, programmed to act like Sam. Dean had done the right thing, the only thing that could be done.

Right?

After being Death for a day, Dean knew the answer was no. The _right_ thing to do would have been to pull Sam's soul out of the cage, kill him, and set the natural order back to rights. Hell, _both_ of them should be dead. _But I didn't raise him this time,_ he mentally protested. _I didn't bring him back. _

_But I would have. If I'd known how, I would've in a heartbeat_.

Dean approached the panic room hesitantly. He pushed open the door.

Sam was still laying there, still handcuffed. Still breathing shallowly.

"I'm surprised."

Dean whirled around.

Cas was standing there placidly, staring curiously at Sam like he was an interesting piece of furniture in a thrift store. "I didn't expect Death to cooperate."

"Took you long enough," Dean sniped. "I got Sam's soul back, and Death said he put up a wall to – repress the Hell memories, or whatever, but now he won't wake up."

Cas turned his eyes to Dean, and they were heavy and woeful. "I warned you this might happen."

"It's not his soul!" Dean retorted. "I mean – I think the physical process of soul installation might've hurt him. Not whatever the prizefighters did in the ring down there. I need you to – " He gesticulated towards Sam. "Mojo."

"Dean." Cas sighed heavily and closed his eyes. "I don't have the time or energy to play doctor. If it's physical in nature, I suggest medical attention. Right now, I have a war to fight."

"Cas!" Dean grabbed him by the arm. "_Please_. I'll – " He licked his lips, trying to think. "I'll give you the rings. The other horsemen's rings."

Cas froze. Dean had his attention.

"I'll give you whatever you want," he begged, clutching Cas's arm desperately. "_Anything _you want."

Cas glanced at the fingers squeezing his bicep through his trench coat, and back up to Dean's eyes. His face hardened.

_Shit_.

Dean let go of his arm warily.

_What did I say? _

Cas turned away, turned to face Sam. "I'll try," he ground out, as if the words tasted bad. "But I don't want anything from you." He reached out his hand, and pressed it to Sam's forehead, frowning in concentration.

Immediately Sam's breathing began to change, grew deeper and slower. The muscles in his face relaxed.

_What did I say? "Anything you want." Wait, did he think – did he think I meant – _

"He's sleeping now," Cas told him, visibly more tired, his eyes dark. "I have repaired all that I can."

"Hey, I didn't mean to sound like – like I was paying you," Dean said hastily. "I just meant, I want to reciprocate. And I want you to have the rings. I'm sure as hell not gonna use 'em."

Cas stood silently for a moment, staring into space. Finally he spoke again. "I have never extorted you, Dean."

"I know," he answered uncertainly.

Cas glanced at him. "I have never knowingly manipulated you into doing what I wished. I have never abused you for my own gains."

"I know," Dean repeated.

"When you offer me rewards in desperation," he continued quietly, "you make it seem as though my refusal is simply a negotiation. As if I'm holding out on you because I know you have something I want. I am not a demon, Dean, and I'm not trying to make a deal. I want to help you; if I say no, it's because I _can't_."

"But you _just did_," Dean protested. As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them.

Cas just gave him a look, one long look. He held out his hand, and Dean saw that his fingers were trembling.

He couldn't even keep his damn hand steady.

He lowered his hand, not once moving his eyes from Dean's. "And now, I am paying the price."

"I'm sorry," Dean whispered. "I didn't realize."

Cas finally broke his gaze, turning his eyes to the open door. "Now I must leave before my brothers find me."

"Hey, why don't you just stay?" Dean suggested. "We'll tighten up that door, get some sigils going. You can get some recovery time."

Cas cocked his head, considering. "Alright."

"And uh. Thanks for taking care of Sam," he added, scratching his arm. "I guess I – I forget sometimes that you're not my fairy godmother."

Cas frowned quizzically.

"Sometimes I forget that you have limits," he clarified.

Cas's frown melted away, and he gazed at Dean with a fond look on his face, the corners of his mouth just barely curling upwards. "When it comes to you," he admitted, "sometimes I do too."

Dean had no explanation for what happened next. Maybe it was some kind of temporary insanity brought on by stress, maybe it was some sort off bizarre hex somebody had put on him as a practical joke. But for a brief moment, he got this warm sugary feeling inside like someone was pouring hot cocoa in his chest and he needed more than anything to apologize and thank Cas for everything he'd done. His feet propelled themselves forward and before he realized what he was doing he was grabbing the dude by the lapels and kissing him right on the mouth.

Cas was a hell of a kisser, and surprisingly aggressive. Dean would never admit it later, but he may have groaned a little.

Fifteen seconds later he broke away and rasped hoarsely, "Yup! So. Thanks!"

Cas's lips were pinker than usual and a little swollen. "You're welcome."

Dean coughed and stumbled towards the door. "I'm just gonna. Guard the room." A thought occurred to him as he moved to close the door behind him. "Don't, uh. Don't tell Bobby about - that. Just now. What happened."

Cas nodded.

Dean closed the door and locked it, then let the back of his head thunk quietly on the cool metal and closed his eyes.

_You know what you just did, don't you, Winchester? You just kissed a goddamn angel of the Lord in a man's body, and you_ liked it.

_Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. _


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: _Oh, my DARLING! Your words, your beautiful, kind words - they have filled me with such hope and inspiration and fervent, undying passion. Marry me, darling, and we'll run away together and fanfic the days away. We'll pack up the chocolate puddles and dragons and frazzled kittens at once. _

_Thank God those kittens had parachutes, incidentally. You're so thoughtful, darling. _

_Today's chapter has a conspicuous lack of Cas, but I like it anyway. I hope you like it too. Please review and let me know what you think! If you review, you will automatically become an Olympian god in a sedan chair carried by jaguars and wearing live eagles. _That awesome_. (Look, I know this makes little to no sense but _you_ try and come up with analogies for awesome day after day. YOUR QUESTIONS WILL NEVER BE ANSWERED, BTW.) _

_On with the show! _

* * *

Sam woke up not too much later, but Dean was only temporarily relieved. He was quiet, almost mute. He didn't eat much. He wandered from room to room in Bobby's house, burying himself in books and avoiding eye contact with anybody else.

Dean wanted desperately to ask him if the wall hadn't worked, if he remembered Hell, but also needed to _keep _Sam from trying to remember Hell at all costs. So he sort of – hovered. Followed Sam around and made him sandwiches and belittled him until he ate some. Turned on cartoons and pretended like it was a coincidence that he was watching TV while Sam was nose deep in a dusty old tome across the room. Asked him if there was anything he needed.

"No," Sam mumbled quietly.

"Good," Dean snorted. "'Cuz I'm not your friggin' manservant. You want something, you can use those gargantuan legs of yours and go get it yourself."

Sam narrowed his eyes and pressed his lips together in that usual pissy way of his, as if he were about to retort. Then he changed his mind and ignored Dean, returning to his book.

It was almost as good as if he'd smiled.

Cas had stuck around for a day, but then disappeared again. Dean wished he hadn't left because they really needed to sit down and have a pow-wow about this kissing stuff. Shit needed to get sorted out. But then again, maybe it was better this way. Maybe Cas would get so distracted by the civil war in heaven that he would forget that he'd locked lips with Dean Winchester and stuck his tongue in his mouth and Dean had made an embarrassing noise and responded with a fuckton of enthusiasm.

Yeah. Right.

Today, Dean was looking for something, anything to get Sam to talk. He noticed that Sam was reading a book of old-fashioned fairytales.

_Bingo_.

"Hey, whatcha got there?" he mused as he moseyed over to the couch where Sam was huddled. "Fairytales. Yup. That seems right up your alley. Little girls picking flowers for Grandma."

Sam pointedly ignored him, but his nostrils flared and he clenched the book harder. He was probably dying to make some snarky remark about Dean's own fairy experience or make some accusation about his literacy. Dean could just see the indignation bubbling up in his face and then –

Instantly, it cooled. He was in control. He wasn't letting Dean get to him.

Weird. Really fucking weird.

Dean gave up and plopped down beside him. "Did you seriously read all the rest of Bobby's books, or do you have a reason for brushing up on Cinderella?"

Sam turned the page. "I'm trying to reinforce my morals," he muttered.

Dean stared.

Sam's eyes scanned down the page.

Okay. That was enough. Dean took the book from him and shut it emphatically. "Alright, Sam. I've been patient with you cuz I always hated it when you used to nag me about holding hands and lighting scented candles and hashing out our feelings, but enough is enough. Talk to me, man. What's _wrong?_"

"Dean." Sam stared at his hands, his shaggy too-long hair falling into his eyes. "I – I've done terrible things."

"Welcome to the club," Dean said.

"No, I mean – things that you – if you knew –" Sam bit the inside of his cheek and sighed. "The things I did to _you_ alone –"

"So that's what this is about?" Dean demanded. "Sam, you didn't have a _soul_. Nobody blames you for that shit. It wasn't really you."

"But don't you _see?_" Sam exclaimed, tears coming to his eyes. "It _was _me! I remember doing it! I thought it through and I did these things and – I tried to kill Bobby, for fuck's sake, fucking _Bobby_ – "

Dean grabbed him by the shoulders. "You listen to me, Sammy. That wasn't you."

Sam's lip trembled as he tried to keep it together, his voice getting hoarse. "I fucked all these women whose names I can't remember and I killed a little boy, a _little boy_ Dean because it was fucking _quicker_ that way and I would've killed you Dean, I would've killed you the second you got in my way –"

"Sam!" Dean shook him violently. "Just – shut the fuck up and _listen!_"

Sam finally obeyed, turning his head away from Dean and breathing raggedly, his jaw clenching and unclenching.

"The fact that you are sitting here right now," Dean continued in a low, serious voice, "and beating yourself up for things beyond your control – that's you. Feeling bad for getting laid once in awhile – that's you. The guy who freaking _reads a book of children's stories_ because he wants to be a better person – _that's you_. All that other stuff that happened while your body was topside? You wouldn't do it. You _couldn't _do it. Ipso facto, it's _wasn't. You_."

Sam met his eyes again, warily.

Dean squeezed his shoulders. _C'mon, man, you gotta believe me. _

"Did you just – use a Latin phrase correctly?" he asked skeptically.

"Jesus Christ!" Dean shoved him away and punched him in the arm. "You are such a catty little _bitch!_"

Sam yelped in pain and then grabbed a book from the nearest stack to bludgeon Dean with. "Yeah, well, you're still a fucking _jerk!_" And they proceeded to hit and kick and batter each other until Dean somehow got Sam in a headlock and Sam fucking _punched him in the nuts_ and they crashed into a bookshelf and Bobby burst into the room with a shotgun, prepared to blow somebody away.

It was probably the best day of Dean's year so far.

That night he made a resolution. Now that Sammy was back, they were going to do everything in their power to help Cas win the war in Heaven. They were going to track down the missing weapons in God's armory, and majorly fuck up Raphael's shit, and anything else they needed to do to get their nerdy little angel in the corner office. It was the least they could do.

_You'll see, Cas. I'll make it up to you_.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: _My wonderful amazing incredible readers. Your reviews are my lifeblood. I know that the last chapter was somewhat lacking in man-angel nookie, but this chapter. THIS chapter should help soften the blow. I really hope you like it because - well, as much as I love Dean/Cas sexytimes, they're the most difficult part of Dean/Cas to write because they require the most painstaking writing. A single turn of phrase can make or break the entire mood. I'm always nerve-wracked when I post these kinds of chapters, so please,_ please _review and let me know what you think._

_Oh, and I can't remember exactly what they called it, but I refer to the thing that can turn people into pillars of salt as "the iodizer." FYI.  
_

_I don't want to waste any more of your time, so I won't craft some elaborate scenario of awesome. Instead, I will just say this: If you review, you will get your own section of Disneyland, and there will never be any lines there. Now let us journey forth into the chapter! _

* * *

Cas narrowed his eyes, stepped forward and into Dean's personal bubble, and said evenly in a low, gravelly voice, "Oh, I think you know _exactly_ how you can pay me back."

Dean gulped.

Cas's hand reached forward and snatched the towel from around his waist so fast it stung. Exposing him.

Dean sucked in air through his clenched teeth as all the blood in his body rushed south. "Cas –"

"On your knees," he growled, black and dangerous. One impossibly strong hand clenched Dean's shoulder and forced him to the ground.

Dean's knees hit the wet tile painfully, but he was barely aware of it. All of his consciousness was tunneling in on the belt buckle he was eye-level with. "Cas," he whispered, heart racing. "Don't make me do this."

The hand left his shoulder, and tilted his chin up.

Bright blue eyes were looking down at him. Intense, but not threatening anymore. Unflinching, unrelenting, but not angry. "I have never abused you, Dean," he murmured, "but you owe me."

A shiver ran up Dean's spine, and something hot and hungry and frightening flared in the pit of stomach. He knew right then that all he had to do was say the word and Cas would let him go, would disappear and pretend this never happened. Cas wanted it, wanted it so badly Dean could feel it radiating off him in waves, but he was leaving it up to Dean. Whatever _Dean_ wanted.

Dean knew exactly what he wanted.

He unbuckled Cas's belt.

.

"Dean!" Bobby called.

Dean's eyes snapped open.

_No. No __no no no no. I was not just dreaming about giving Cas a blowjob. I was not dreaming about _wanting_ to give Cas a blowjob. No. Just – no. _

_Maybe – it was a nightmare? _

_Sure, Winchester. Just keep telling yourself that_.

"Rise and shine, Dean!" Bobby called impatiently. "We got guests!"

And that was when Dean became aware of the thumping and crashing sounds coming from the living room. "Sam!" Dean bellowed, casting his sheets aside and grabbing his knife.

"At the store," Bobby hollered back. "Now get down here, ya idjit!"

The "guests" naturally turned out to be Raphael's goons, coming for the heavenly iodizer the Winchesters had spent the last week tracking down and securing. The gang had stumbled home at 3 a.m. last night, chucked the thing in a safe in the panic room, and called Cas to pick it up. When Cas hadn't shown up, Dean had shrugged it off and assumed he'd be by in the next day or so. Hopefully.

Because Cas had ignored plenty of prayers from him, but never one about a possible weapon. Ever.

Now, Raphael was apparently after it. What a surprise. No one could have predicted that! Even though the thing was only marginally useful to an angel and ridiculously useful to a guy who fought things that were afraid of salt, Raphael just had to get his grubby little hands on it. What a _douche_.

Meanwhile, Dean was fighting angels barefoot and shirtless, and he was regretting not taking the time to put on his damn shoes because the shitheads kept fucking _stepping_ on his feet and it hurt like a bitch. He ganked a couple and Bobby ganked a couple and pretty soon it was down to just him and one stubborn son of a bitch who wouldn't die and then – the mook sprouted a silver sword through his chest and toppled over.

Cas stood there, wild-eyed and breathing heavily. "I'm late," he panted. "I apologize."

Dean, trying to catch his own breath, nodded and gave him the "A-o-kay" handsign.

Cas stepped over the angel's body, looking worried. "Do you still have the iodizer?"

"Yeah," Dean sighed wearily. "It's in the lockbox. You wanna go grab it, Bobby?"

Bobby nodded and headed off to the basement.

Cas watched him leave, and then turned back to Dean. "Are you hurt?"

"Nah, just some bruised toes." He wiggled said toes and winced.

"I think you…" Cas's eyes raked across his abdomen. "You have a cut."

Sure enough, there was an angry-looking red stripe across his stomach. Huh. He hadn't even noticed. Shallow, but long. Suddenly he became self-conscious of his relative nakedness and felt an uncharacteristic flush rise to his cheeks. "It's just a scratch. Looks worse than it actually is."

Cas nodded. He stood there, staring at the scratch, standing uncomfortably close.

Dean tried to ignore the way his hands itched at his sides. "Hey," he uttered, disliking how hoarse it came out. "There somethin' else you need?"

Wrong question.

With absolutely no warning, Cas took Dean by the shoulders and kissed him long and slow and hard like he was Cary fucking Grant, all ardent lips and pressing mouths and crescendoing music and Dean fell for it like goddamn Katherine Hepburn and had one hand in Cas's hair and the other groping at his hip before you could say "Get a fucking room." Dean accidentally made some stupid sounding noises again, but when he bit Cas's lip the angel moaned out loud and made Dean hot as fuck and he stopped caring anymore.

It was just when Dean's little brain had decided that Cas needed to be at least as naked as he was that heavy footsteps approached the room.

Bobby.

Bobby was coming back.

Dean yanked away from Cas and wiped his face and thought about wendigos and shapeshifters shedding and fucking _witches_ because he was wearing fucking sweatpants.

"I got the salter," Bobby called loudly as he re-entered the room. He glanced between the two of them.

_Maybe he doesn't know. Please, by all that is holy, do _not_ let him put two and two together_.

Bobby handed the iodizer to Cas. "Don't know how much help it'll be, but. Here you go."

"Thank you." Cas slipped it into his pocket. "It will be useful. It can destroy an angel's vessel."

"Right." Bobby avoided Dean's eyes and announced nonchalantly, "Welp, I guess I better go start cleanin' up the bodies. In the other room."

_Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck_.

As soon as Bobby left the room, Dean grabbed Cas's shoulder. "We gotta talk."


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: _Wow. Just - wow. I have the best readers ever. Whenever I peruse the archives, I'm always reminded of that fact, because most people don't get this many reviews. I'm incredibly lucky to get this kind of response from you guys, and trust me, I will do my best to reward you with boy-kisses and angel-snuggles. _

_Also, flying sharks that do your taxes. You are all getting flying shark tax accountants. My gift to you. _

_This chapter is all about The Talk which, knowing Dean, can be counted upon to be sufficiently awkward. You know, a few of you said in your reviews that you thought I captured Dean's voice well, and I'm really happy to hear that. Being in character is super important to me, because it's so hard to do with slash (which by definition is _out_ of character). However, I think Dean's a pretty easy character to write. A fan favorite, very easy to sympathize with, motivated by very basic and common desires and fears - Dean is easy because everybody wants to be him and everybody has a little of him in them. _

_Cas is another story. We won't get into that today. Suffice to say, he's difficult. _

_Anyways, my point was, it means a lot to me. Thanks. Enjoy the chapter, and please keep up the awesome reviewing - y'all make my day. _

* * *

"Sit," Dean instructed, gesturing to a chair across the kitchen table from him. It was good to have the table between them to prevent an attack of the temporary insanity or chronic brain aneurysm or whatever was happening to Dean from interrupting this conversation. He'd even slipped on a worn old AC/DC t-shirt so as to make things a little more… decent.

Cas obediently sat down, looking at once concerned and kind of annoyed by Dean's tone.

Dean clasped his hands on the table and took a deep breath. "Look, I don't want hurt your feelings or anything, but… you gotta stop kissing me."

Cas frowned. "But _you_ kissed _me_."

Dean wiped a hand down his face and sighed. "I know. I'm sorry. That was a mistake and just made everything ten times more – but the point is, yeah, that one's on me. The second time, I kissed you."

Cas's face was set, but blank. Unreadable, deliberately unreadable. "Why?"

A bark of wry laughter escaped from Dean before he could stop it, and he shook his head. "Believe you me, I wish I knew. I guess I wanted to apologize for being such a dick, and for some crazy reason the first thing that came to mind – "

"No." His eyes were searching, penetrating, looking for something in Dean. "Why are you _sorry?"_

Dean opened his mouth to answer.

Nothing came out.

"I – I-I'm sorry because I think I gave you the wrong idea," he finally managed.

"What do you mean?" Cas inquired, puzzled.

"Straight guys – straight guys don't kiss other guys," Dean explained, feeling his cheeks get hot. "Well, maybe in Europe or something, but not around here. And I'm straight, and I… don't know what the hell you are. And I think you might – well, you're sure acting like you dig me. In a – uh – a non-platonic way. So, when I kissed you, I think I – I might've given the impression that I was attracted to you, and that was misleading, because. I'm not."

Cas's brows lowered, and his face darkened. "Perhaps someone should inform your genitals of that," he muttered.

Dean choked.

If he had been drinking coffee, it would have been spewed all over the table.

"I-i-it's a physiological response!" he sputtered. "You put your _tongue_ in my _mouth_. For a guy like me, that's like a freaking dinner bell to Pavlov's dog. It's not my fault if my junk got a little confused!"

"I don't think it's your 'junk' that's confused," Cas shot back, standing up from the table. "I kissed you as a mark of our friendship and mutual bond. I admit, I may have experienced feelings for you that were decidedly sexual in nature, but I thought I made it clear that I don't want anything from you that isn't given freely. You acted of your own accord. Do _not _accuse me of manipulation."

"I'm not!" Dean exclaimed exasperatedly, standing up as well. "I'm trying to _apologize _for leading you on!"

Cas stepped forward, thunder in his face. "Because you're not attracted to me," he growled.

"Yes." Dean stood his ground, refusing to be cowed by a short angel. Even if said cowing was majorly turning him on.

"Because when I kiss you, you feel nothing," he continued harshly, his blue eyes flashing. He stepped closer to Dean.

Dean swallowed and hoped that Cas wasn't angry enough to beat him up again. A hot coil uncurled in the pit of his stomach. "Yes."

Cas was close enough to touch him without even trying, but an inch of space separated them. "Because you don't moan when I lick the roof of your mouth."

Dean closed his eyes. Dammit. He knew making those noises would come back to bite him in the ass. He tried to ignore the way the timbre of Cas's voice made the hairs on his arms stand up.

"Because," Cas whispered, his breath warm on Dean's face, "this has absolutely no effect on you." And suddenly his lips brushed softly against the skin of Dean's throat, feather light and barely there.

It took every fiber of Dean's strength not to lean forward and into that warm, soft mouth. _Gotta be strong, don't give in, no matter how fucking goddamn fucking hot sexy fucking _fuck _– _

And then Cas murmured darkly, his lips still brushing against him, his voice reverberating through his skin, "_Answer me._"

And Dean broke.

He grabbed Cas by the shoulders and slammed him against the counter and kissed him angry and fierce and tongue and teeth, lots of teeth and yanked his hair and groped his ass and ground their hips together _hard _and only pulled his lips from Cas's for a second to gasp, "Fuck. _Yes._"

Across the room, something thumped to the ground.

Dean and Cas both froze. Slowly, full of dread, Dean turned his head to look.

Sam stood there, mouth agape, a toppled grocery bag at his feet.

_Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiit._

"Hey," Dean greeted him weakly. "You're back."

Sam just stared and made a noise that sounded like, "Uhghngh?"

"It's not what it looks like," he added.

Cas frowned. "No, I'm fairly certain that it is."

Sam gave a faint noise of despair, made a 180, and walked out of the room.

"He left the groceries," Cas noted.

"I think we broke him," Dean explained grimly. He disentangled himself from Cas and bent down to pick up the orange that had rolled over to them. "He's seen worse though, he really has. Heh." He stood back up and turned back to Cas. "But anyways, we never really –"

Cas was gone.

_Fuck_.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: _Sorry this chapter is a day late, folks! I've been super busy baking and shopping and whatnot in preparation for Christmas and then on top of everything, I ended up rewriting the end of the chapter in a totally different direction. (Well, not totally different. It's more of a detour.) _

_You guys. Youuuuu guys. You wrote me such nice, flattering, wonderful reviews. You make me blush, and what's more, you inflate my ego. Some of you thought that someone had told me I didn't write a good Cas, and I hasten to assure you that that's not the case. I personally just have really high standards for the way I write Cas, and he's the one who I always end up editing and deliberating about the most. Dean kinda flows from me and then I adjust certain turns of phrase or conjunctions, whereas Cas is more of a conscious effort to concoct. But I really, really, REALLY appreciate all your reassurance about the way I characterize him, because I put so much effort into finding a good balance between squee-ableness and BAMF-ness. _

_As a final note, Dean says/thinks some stuff towards the end of this chapter, and I want to make a differentiation - this is what I think _Dean _thinks the situation is, not what _I _think. I agree with him to a certain extent, but he's very biased by his own cynicism and jadedness. He's more pessimistic than I am, so. Keep that in mind._

_And on with your belated chapter! (Sorry again!) _

* * *

As soon as Sam's brain started functioning again, he was furious with Dean. No, make that _livid_. He would be even angrier if it wasn't so damn good to be feeling emotions again, to _care _about something enough to be livid. It had been over a year since he had pitched a genuine bitch fit, and he was waaaaaay overdue.

Dean emerged from the kitchen looking frustrated. Sam had absolutely no sympathy for him. He grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into a more private corridor. "What the_ fuck _do you think you're doing?" he spat.

Dean frowned in indignation and yanked his arm out of Sam's grasp. "What the hell? I thought you were Mr. Enlightened Liberal Education."

Sam huffed. "It's not homophobia, Dean. I admit I was surprised, but you'll bang just about anything on two legs, so it made sense."

Dean opened his mouth to defend himself. "That's not –"

"But don't you get it?" Sam interrupted. "Cas isn't 'anything on two legs,' alright? He's not some rebound chick you can dump once your ego is sufficiently re-inflated. I don't know that he's all that good at differentiating love and sex, and if you're not careful you could really fuck him up. For good." Sam looked him straight in the eyes and spoke emphatically and clearly. "You're just horny... and he loves you. You know he loves you."

Dean sighed and looked away. "Sam –"

Sam pressed his lips together. "You. _Know_."

Dean stared at the wall, a muscle in his jaw tightening.

He shrugged. "And I don't know, maybe I should be giving you the benefit of the doubt here. Maybe you've got feelings for the guy. But it's not fair to Cas to get involved with him before sorting things out with Lisa."

"She told me I'm not welcome in her home," Dean snapped. "How much more 'sorted' does it get?"

Sam was taken aback for a moment; he hadn't known that. But even still… "If it's so settled and done with, Dean, how come you nearly call her every week? And I know you think about Ben all the time."

Dean licked his lower lip and held out one hand in an explanatory gesture. "I lived with them for a fucking year, Sam," he said slowly. "I'm allowed to miss them."

"And that's my point," Sam countered. "If Lisa called you tomorrow and said she wanted you back, what would you do?"

Dean was silent.

"'Cause I know what it would do to Cas," he continued. "It would kill him, Dean."

Dean shrugged. "I think you're underestimating his mental fortitude," he remarked. "Dude's been through some shit."

"For you." Sam fixed Dean with his most piercing glare. "He's been through some shit for _you_."

Dean swallowed.

Then he glanced up at Sam, and a strange look came over his face. He clapped Sam on the shoulder and chuckled quietly.

Sam frowned. "What?"

"Sammy." Dean's smile was bittersweet. "I fucking _missed_ you. I can't believe it, but I missed you being so goddamn morally superior all the time."

Sam laughed in spite of himself and nodded. "Well, it's not that hard. You're kind of scraping the bottom of the barrel, scruples wise."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Me, lacking in scruples? Next to the Sam-bot, I'm freakin' Mother Theresa."

"The Sam-bot?" he asked dubiously.

"Soulless Sam is too hard to say," Dean explained.

"Ah."

….

For the next few days, Cas didn't show back up, and Dean got a chance to think about things.

Sam had a point. Dean had to give him that. But there were two things that Sam didn't know: first, that nothing serious had happened between them yet, and secondly, that Dean was the farthest possible thing from in control of the situation. Hell, he'd been in the process of trying to break things off with Cas when Sam had walked in on them. So telling Dean that this was a bad idea? Pretty futile.

He knew that things with Lisa were complicated, but it wasn't because the situation was by any means ambiguous. When they'd had that last phone conversation – sure, she might not have intended to put it so bluntly, mighta been a touch more tactful if she hadn't been under the influence of a spell, but everything she had said was true. Much as it fucking hurt, it was all true. The curse had made sure of that. No, the only loose end was Ben.

He fucking loved that kid, and the last time he'd seen him he'd nearly killed him. He'd never gotten to say goodbye, never gotten to apologize. That was what kept him up at nights. That was what kept him staring at the phone, arguing with himself over whether or not to press the numbers.

He dug out the letter he'd asked the doctor to send if he didn't make it, and re-read it. All it needed was a few revisions…

….

_Dear Ben_,

_The first thing I want to do is apologize for the way I acted the last time I saw you. I could give you an explanation, but all it'd really be is an excuse; what I want you to know is that I wasn't in my right mind, and I'm sorry. The last thing I ever want to do is hurt you, and I hurt you real bad – maybe not physically, but in other ways. And that's why, much as I care about you – and I do, Ben – I can't stick around. It's __because__ I care about you that I have to stay away. _

_Remember that time you and your friend went down to the park when you'd promised you'd stay on the block, and you got a cut on your arm from part of the jungle gym? You didn't want to get in trouble with your mom, so you just ignored the cut and hid it and thought it would go away on its own. But it didn't go away. Eventually it got infected, and got so it hurt ten times worse than it had when you first got it, and you had to go to the doctor and get a shot and it took a lot longer to heal. AND you got in trouble with your mom. _

_Well, my life was kind of like that. It was dangerous, and it was painful. I thought I could put it behind me, ignore it, pretend it didn't happen, and that's what I was doing when I was staying with you and your mom. But just like that cut, I couldn't ignore it forever. It caught up with me, and because I'd been ignoring it and letting my guard down it was ten times as dangerous and painful as it had been before, and worse, it was dangerous for you guys too. I wanted to believe that I could protect you from it, but that night, the last time I saw you – it made me realize that I can't. I can't protect you from myself. When I first started writing this letter, I wanted to swear to you that something like that would never happen again, but I can't. My life is the kind of life that hurts people, and if you're a part of my life then you'll get hurt, one way or another. I knew that from the start, and it was wrong of me to get you involved. I was selfish. I thought I could hide my cut. _

_So I'm sorry, Ben. I'm sorry for getting you tangled up in this. You're a great kid, the awesomest kid I've ever known, and you're going to be a man soon. I know you'll do what's right, keep honest, and stay true to who you are. Listen to your mom, because she loves you __so much__ and you're damn lucky to have her. I know that right now you're probably still angry at me, but I hope that someday you'll understand and forgive me. And if you ever, EVER in your life need help from a guy like me, you can call me, and as long as I'm alive I'll come fast as I can drive. I swear it. _

_Goodbye, and rock on._

_Dean_

…

He folded up the letter, put it in an envelope, and put it in Bobby's mailbox.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: _MERRY CHRISTMAAAAAAAAAAAS! I hope you crazy kids had great holiday-times and got lots of presents. I sure did! Also, I wrote you a chapter that actually has Cas in it, so Hooray! Spoiler alert: bodily contact shall ensue._

_As you know, everyone who reviews is totally awesome. You guys left me some wonderful, festive reviews for the last chapter and made me so ridiculously happy. In the spirit of Christmas, if you review this chapter then I will send you your very own squadron of elves to be your loyal toy-making slaves! You can also dress them up in adorable outfits and remind them that they're not really _people_. They should stop crying within two to three weeks, when the Stockholm syndrome kicks in._

_And now, the chapter._

* * *

A week passed, and still no sign of Cas. Not exactly unusual considering the whole "battle royale" thing going on in Heaven, but Dean had thought – he'd thought they'd kinda been in the middleof something. He tried not to think too hard about it and concentrated on tracking down Gabriel's horn (which had ended up in Oslo, of all places).

And then one night Dean walked out to the empty parking lot outside their motel room, and prayed. _Hey Cas, if you're not too busy… we got an address for Gabriel's horn. Figured maybe you'd wanna go pick it up_.

The streetlight above him flickered.

Dean didn't even have to look behind him to know that Cas was standing there somberly.

He chuckled dully and hung his head as he turned, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets for warmth. "You know, you act like we're such good pals… Sometimes I forget that you didn't visit me for a year."

Cas just gazed at him, waiting expectantly for that address.

Dean swallowed, and the empty smirk on his face shrank a little. "Why didn't you. Visit me." _Nobody is _that_ busy_.

Cas cocked his head slightly. "Because you never called."

Okay. That was fair. What would he have done, anyways, if Cas had shown up in Lisa's kitchen? He would've told him to get the hell out of there. So he was bitching over nothing, really. Cas had known that he was starting over, and he'd respected that.

So why did it still bother him?

"Anyways, here's the address." Dean handed over the crumpled piece of note paper, wishing he had a good excuse not to hand it over just yet. "How goes the war?"

"Difficult." Cas's voice dropped a decibel, and he stared at the note in his hand. "My followers are strong, but they are few. I don't know what will happen to them if I lose; Raphael can be petty, and vindictive. I fear for them."

"Hey, don't talk like that," Dean insisted, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Gotta think positive and all that crap. 'Sides, you got the Winchesters on your side." He clapped him emphatically. "Sam and I are awesome at fucking things up, so you can count on us to be a pain in Raphael's celestial ass."

Cas glanced at the hand on his shoulder, and back at Dean.

It was weird, because it was just the kind of thing that would normally make Dean leap away like he was touching a hot stove, but for some reason… he didn't. He actually had the urge to slide his hand up to Castiel's neck, let it rest against his skin, gently slip his fingers into his hair, kiss him soft and slow and reassuring – but he didn't. He just kept it there. Let it weigh on Cas's shoulder.

Cas's blue eyes were troubled. "I'm sorry for the way I acted before," he began in a low voice. "It was – wrong of me to – "

"No," Dean interrupted. "Don't apologize. I was – well, I was lying to you, saying I'm not attracted to you. You weren't wrong to be irritated with me. It's just…" He sighed wearily, and let his hand fall from his shoulder. "This is the worst possible time. For both of us. I just got out of a… a pretty serious relationship, and you, you're in the middle of a war… And, I mean, I'm always up for fun and games but, I just don't know if – if I'm ready to have strings attached."

"So what you're saying is," Cas replied slowly, "that we should not be sexually intimate."

Fuck. How did he always find the single most awkward way of putting things? "Yes, that's what I'm saying," Dean affirmed. "I'm not happy about it, but. I don't want you to get hurt, and… I don't want to get hurt either." He swallowed the lump in his throat. Much as Cas probably cared, he wasn't the best communicator, and he had a tendency to leave suddenly and not return. Dean had been left too many times by the people he loved for that to be easy to deal with. "And if we start something at this stage of the game, it seems pretty inevitable."

Cas paused, and then nodded. "I agree."

"You agree?" Dean asked incredulously.

He looked into Dean's eyes. "Yes."

"Oh." Dean pursed his lips. "Well, then, good."

And then they were kissing soft and quick and –

_What the fuck? _

Dean pulled away, frowning at Cas. "Dude! Why'd you do that?"

Cas frowned back, just as puzzled. "I didn't. You kissed me."

"No, you definitely kissed me," Dean countered.

Cas's brows lowered even further. "Dean. I think I would have remembered if – "

And Cas's lips were warm and gentle and teasing at Dean's, meeting his in short, shallow kisses like Dean was made of something sweet and Cas was just trying to get a taste. Against his will Dean sagged into him a little and let his fingers curl around a swath of trenchcoat –

"Seriously!" Dean exclaimed. "You said you agreed!"

"I do!" Cas protested just as indignantly. "Stop kissing me, Dean. We will both regret it."

"I swear to God, it's not me," Dean said, deadly serious. "No, I swear to _Metallica_ it's not me." And he was telling the fucking truth.

But Cas didn't lie. Dean wasn't even sure Cas knew _how_ to lie.

Cas looked bewildered. "Well, if it's not you, and it's not me, how does it keep happening?"

And Dean couldn't answer because his mouth was otherwise occupied, tasting and touching and making obscene little smacking noises with Cas's and it felt so good and so right but strangely, it wasn't really a sex thing, not that it wasn't turning him on a little but there was no urgency, no overwhelming all-consuming lust just – nice.

It was just nice.

Finally Castiel sighed and rested his head on Dean's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I should leave –"

"No!" Dean blurted, grabbing his sleeve. His brain always forgot that there was no way he could stop Cas from going if he wanted. "Look, obviously this is happening whether we like it or not."

Cas raised his head. "Don't you like it?"

"Fuck yeah, I like it," Dean asserted without even thinking. _Wow. That was – weird. Way to out-gay yourself, Dean_. "What I mean is – maybe we shouldn't try and stay apart completely. Maybe we should just… keep things low key."

Cas blinked.

"Like, keep it middle school," Dean explained. "Nothing… sexual. Do you think – you think you can do that?"

Cas gave him a deprecating look. "Dean. I've been chaste for several millennia. I think I can control myself." He didn't even have to add _Unlike some people_ for Dean to catch his unspoken meaning.

"Hey," Dean protested. "I can do it. I can do anything I set my mind to."

A hint of a smile curled at the corner of Cas's mouth. "We'll see."

And he was gone.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N:_ Guess what? EXTRA LONG CHAPTER! Excitement abounds! The earth rejoices! Millions are overcome by tears! And now we do the dance of joy!*_

_I was doing the dance of joy myself when I read all of your fabulous reviews. To every person who reviews this chapter I will give one MILLION candy bars made of SOLID GOLD, otherwise known as GOLD BARS! And by "give", I mean "imagine giving"! You will also receive my undying adoration and several charitable thoughts.  
_

_Finally, this chapter teeters on the brink of M. If ye be unripe of age or unloving of sexytimes, turn back now. I _think _it's still in the T category (maybe), but I apologize in advance to anyone who feels it oversteps those bounds. This is... one of the more explicit things that I've ever written.  
_

_*What, you're telling me that you don't get a reference to an 80's television program called "Perfect Strangers"? Doesn't everyone know that show?**_

_**No. No they don't. _

* * *

Dean and Cas lay on the bed together, Cas flat on his back and Dean half-sprawled over him, idly kissing his neck. He loosened Cas's tie and stopped for a moment to finger it absently. "This tie," he murmured. "It drives me freakin' nuts, you know that? The things I would do to you with this tie…"

He could feel Cas's gaze on him, light and playful. "Like what?"

Dean's whole body was heating up just thinking about it, and now Cas wanted him to describe it? Shit. He flipped the tie over, smoothing it against Cas's chest, which was rising and falling gently with each breath. "Wellllll," he drawled, letting a seductive smirk grow across his face. "Maybe I'd tie up your hands, tie you to the bed. Have my way with you."

Cas's voice rumbled deep and gravelly through his hands. "And what if I didn't let you?"

Dean glanced up then, up to Cas's face, feeling something warm twist in his stomach. "What?"

Cas's clear blue eyes were locked with his, amused but somehow deadly serious. "What if I tied _you_ to the bed instead?"

There was a definite reaction in Dean's body then, hot and consuming and desperate. "Yeah, what if?" he whispered hoarsely, his hand clenching around that tie.

"I wouldn't be gentle," Cas continued, his breathing quickening just a little. "You should know that. I would be rough with you."

_Awww, fuck_. His pants were fucking tight now. "Why?" he asked, needing desperately for this game to continue.

Cas's eyes darkened, his whole face growing hungry and fierce. "Because sometimes," he murmured, his voice scraping Dean like sandpaper, "I like to remind you who I am."

Dean groaned, closing his eyes and surrendering to the desire to grind himself into Cas, unable to fight it any longer. "Stop talking," he rasped. "Remind me. Remind me who the fuck you are."

And in one swift movement, Cas had them flipped over, and Dean was on his back, and Cas was pushing him into the mattress with his own hard tight body and he bent his head down and to Dean's ear. "I'm a warrior of God," he growled, "and I'm going to fuck you so hard that you'll never forget it." One swift yanking motion and they were both instantly naked, skin against skin, hot and sweaty and writhing and thrusting and faster and harder and faster.

"Don't - forget it," Cas gasped harshly, panting to the brutal tempo of their bodies. "Don't you - _fucking_ forget it..."

"_Caaas_," Dean moaned. "Shit, _Caaas_…" He was so close, almost there, so hot and hard and so goddamn close –

_Beep beep!_

That wasn't right.

_Beep beep!_

Dean opened his eyes.

He'd been dreaming. And now it was time to get up.

Of course.

He faceplanted into his pillow and groaned the groan of a deeply frustrated man.

…..

"Dushn't make any fuckin' shenshe," Dean muttered to himself as he brushed his teeth. He hadn't even realized he'd said it out loud until Sam asked from the other room, "What doesn't?"

Dean's eyes darted to him, and he spat in the sink. "What?"

"What doesn't make sense?" Sam prodded, lacing up his boots.

He rolled his shoulders and wiped the excess toothpaste from his mouth, eyeballing himself in the mirror. "Nothing. Had a weird dream."

"Clowns or midgets?" Sam's face was split in a shit-eating grin.

Dean chucked a towel at his head. "Smartass," he hollered.

…...

"I mean, dreams don't mean shit, right?"

Sam looked up from his laptop. "What?"

Dean was hunched over the edge of the bed with his face drawn tight in thought; the local papers he had been going through lay scattered next to him, forgotten. "Dreams," he repeated, his voice clipped. "They're a buncha random neurons, right?"

"Neural firing," Sam corrected. "But it's not exactly random, Dean. The science is inconclusive at best, but there's a lot of theory about how your dreams reflect the state of your subconscious."

Dean just kept frowning.

"Look, maybe you should just tell me about this dream." Sam sat back in his chair and stretched his arms. "It's obviously bothering you."

"The dream is not important," Dean snapped. "And anyways, it's not just one dream. I keep having 'em. It's like…" He paused, searching for the right words. "It's like, I'm a cheeseburger man, right?"

"Yeahhh," Sam affirmed warily.

"That's just who I am. I like certain kinds of food and I like 'em a certain way and it's been like that my whole life." He paused again, his hands sliding down to his knees and squeezing there. "And say I start having these dreams, and I'm dreaming about eating a cheeseburger, and then halfway through it turns into a salad. I don't go for salad. Everybody knows I don't like it. But in these dreams, it's the most awesome goddamn salad I've ever tasted and it's even better than that stupid cheeseburger." He scratched the back of his neck. "And now that I'm awake, I can't shake this feeling that I know what I like and don't _like_ salad, salad's not my thing, but then I go back to sleep and I'm dreaming about friggin' lettuce again."

Sam thought he was starting to understand what Dean was _actually_ talking about. It was clearly some sort of sexual identity crisis involving Cas and frankly, he'd been sort of expecting it. What he didn't get was what exactly the crisis _was_. He and Cas had been getting pretty friendly in real life, and from the looks of it – God, Sam still wanted to gouge his eyes out – he'd been enjoying it. It wasn't just some fantasy in his head. So, lacking other data, Sam decided to offer what advice he could through the food metaphor.

"Well, you don't have to take the dream literally," he began cautiously. "If I dreamt about a friendly clown, I would probably still hate clowns when I woke up. It could just be that clowns were on my mind when I went to sleep, and it ended up being nice by accident. But if it's a recurrent thing it might be a sign that, subconsciously, there's something that you need, something salad represents. You get me?"

Dean nodded slowly, staring off into space.

"Like, maybe salad represents your subconscious desire to take better care of yourself," Sam suggested. "Maybe the cheeseburger is symbolic of the way you used to feel about yourself, and the salad is your new self-image – more adult, more responsibilities and concerns. It could be anything, and nobody can know for sure what it means but you. Heck, maybe all it means is you're low on vitamins." Sam gave him a significant look. "But there _is_ the possibility that deep down, you know you never gave salad a fair shake and you want to give it a second chance."

Dean narrowed his eyes and glared at him. "Don't even think about it, granola," he warned. "It wasn't even salad, anyways, so you can just go peddle your vegetables elsewhere."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I know it wasn't salad, Dean," he replied dryly, returning to his research. "The only way you could be more transparent is if you tried to tell me it was your 'friend's' dream."

He could practically hear Dean's eyes bug out. "Transparent!" he protested. "Yeah, well if I'm so freakin' transparent, what am I thinkin' right now?"

Sam didn't even look up. "You're thinking that I'm a dick who needs a haircut."

There was a tight silence from Dean, and then the rustling of newspapers. "Where's that damn article?" he muttered to himself.

Sam smiled.

…...

"So how am I supposed to figure out what it means?"

Sam used the forceps to gently prod open the wound on the dead man's torso. "Well, it looks like some kind of animal, but at this rate of decomp I can't be – "

"No, the dream," Dean interrupted. "If it could mean anything, how the hell am I supposed to figure it out?"

"Can you _focus_ for like, five minutes?" Sam demanded. "We're in a _morgue_. Let's get what we came for, and get the hell out."

"Right."

…...

"I don't know," Sam sighed. They sat in the Impala outside of some ramshackle apartments on the bad side of town. Stakeout. "Maybe try and fix whatever you think it's really about, see if that makes the dreams go away. Maybe just live with it. Whatever you're dreaming about – is it really that terrible?"

Dean's face colored a little. "Not exactly," he mumbled.

Sam unscrewed the thermos of coffee. "Seriously, Dean, come clean. What is this about?"

Dean peered through the windshield. "That's for me to know and you to never, ever find out."

"C'mon," Sam goaded him. "I'm gonna figure it out sooner or later."

Dean pressed his lips together tightly.

"Lemme guess: it involves you and Cas."

Dean's head whipped around. He stared wide eyed at Sam for a second before demanding, "What is _wrong_ with you?"

"Dean, I walked in on you practically molesting the guy," Sam retorted. "I've never seen you do that to a lot of women, but never a man. And then you start making cheeseburger-salad analogies… It really wasn't that hard to put two and two together."

Dean exhaled through his nose and looked back out the window. "Close, but no cigar." And then he was silent.

After a few seconds, Sam gave up and returned his attention to the apartment they were supposed to be watching.

"This never leaves this car. Ever."

Sam looked over at Dean.

He was still looking out the window, but his eyes flickered back to Sam.

Sam nodded.

"See, there are people who overthink sex." Dean's voice was low and purposefully casual. "I've never been one of 'em. I'm an 'anything goes' type of dude, just looking to have a good time. Whatever floats your boat. I've done some kinky shit but I'm pretty vanilla when you get down to it."

Sam had figured as much. He'd heard enough tales and caught enough unwanted glimpses to know that when Dean had sex, it was usually either the kind you could accompany with AC/DC's "You Shook Me All Night Long" or the kind that warranted Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get It On." He was adventurous, sure, but sex was happy-time for Dean – no dark thoughts allowed.

Sam was kind of a different story, but there was no way he was ever telling Dean that.

"And don't get me wrong, I like a chick who knows what she wants, who's got a little fight in her." Dean's hands flexed on the steering wheel. "One who'll give you the full cowgirl, you know? But these dreams. I've never thought that…" He licked his lips. "Well, in these dreams, there's a very distinct… dominance flavor."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Really, Dean? That's what's got you freaked? Cuz you were just about humping him into Bobby's kitchen counter and if that's not dominant then I don't know –"

"No, you don't understand." Dean's face was getting red now, and he absolutely was not meeting Sam's eyes. "In my dreams, I. I'm not the one in charge."

_Ohhhhhhhhhhh_.

Dean ran a hand over his face. "I don't know what it means," he sighed. "I don't think – I mean, I've never been into that sort of thing before. And I don't think Cas would really – well, at least not the way it happens in– " He cut himself short, too embarrassed to continue.

At first Sam wasn't sure what to do with this information, but the pieces were coming together in his mind and it started to make more and more sense. "Maybe," he said slowly, "it has less to do with sex than you think."

Dean blinked. "What?" he barked.

"In case you haven't noticed, Dean, we kind of – sometimes we treat Cas like a lackey," Sam explained. "We boss him around like he has nothing better to do with his time. But he's an angel and he's… really powerful. If he wins this war, he'll be in charge of Heaven. Maybe your subconscious is trying to remind you of that."

Dean flushed momentarily, and then recovered. He nodded. "That makes sense," he murmured.

"Or maybe…" It took everything Sam had to keep a straight face on. "You just _really_ want Cas to make you his bitch."

Dean socked him hard in the shoulder, and it was totally worth it.


	11. Chapter 11

[EDIT]: I originally accidentally uploaded Ch. 9 again as Ch. 11, and akuma-river was kind enough to point it out to me. Much thanks, and sorry for the mix-up! Here's the real chapter.

A/N: _Okay, so this is quickly approaching my record for number of chapters in a fic. Not length, mind you, because I've kept chapters pretty short, just number of chappies. And you know why this is possible? _You guys_. I've always been afraid of doing a fic with a lot of chapters because I worry that people won't want to keep reading for that long, but you guys and your wonderful reviews have assured me that there are still people out there who want more of this story. I confess, I didn't... _plan_ for it to go on this long, it's just taking a really long time for our guys to work out their issues. _

_Let's be honest here: it's mostly Dean. But guess what happens this chapter? Cas gets issues too! I swear, I'm just making life more complicated for myself; I shoulda just had them kiss in chapter 5 or so and Dean be all like, "Wow, that was an amazing sextastic kiss! Let's get married." But you know what? That story has been written before. Dean and Cas are nothing if not the kind of characters who take the long way around to every emotional breakthrough, and this season hasn't been kind to either of them. So we're taking the scenic route, folks - I hope you're enjoying the ride. _

_I'm thoroughly relieved by all of your reviews, since I was mildly terrified that I would alienate you all with my talk of "dominance", but it's something I've been working into the dream angle from the beginning. And, of course, "real life" too, but Cas has to be pretty provoked to go BAMF on Dean ordinarily. The Cas of Dean's dreams is one who puts up with a lot less of Dean's bullshit, ha ha. _

_Anyways, you're all THE BEST PEOPLE EVER for reviewing and if you review this chapter you will get a MAJOR AWARD in the form of SOME LEFTOVER CHRISTMAS CHOCOLATE AND MY PERPETUAL ADORATION. I love you!  
_

* * *

When Castiel arrived in the parking lot, it was not a perfect landing. He would have liked to have appeared directly in Dean's room, but he erred by many feet and knew he was too weak to correct it. Instead he staggered toward the door, one hand trying to close the wound in his side and the other groping for the knob. It was a much greater effort than it should have been.

Locked. The damnable door was locked.

Castiel groaned and leaned against the door, gathering his strength for a moment. Normally, this would be as simple as walking, but… He heaved himself back up, and raised a hand.

The door blasted open.

He lurched inside, hoping to make it to one of the beds. Beds had been his friend when he had briefly been cut off from Heaven – soft, warm, safe. One of the small pleasures of a mortal being. He clutched the garish comforter and dragged himself onto the nearest one, remembering at the last moment to flick his hand out behind him and close the door.

He rested.

…..

Many minutes later, Castiel heard voices outside the door. Then they fell silent.

It must have been obvious that their room had been broken into. Castiel wanted to roll over onto his back so he would be easier to recognize but he also wanted more than anything in the world not to move ever again. So he remained.

Twin sets of _click-click, _the sound of two guns being cocked. The soft metallic whisper of the knob being turned slowly, cautiously. The door creaked open.

A moment of tense silence. Then, "Cas?"

He wanted to answer affirmatively, but all that would come out was a groan.

"Cas?"

Firm, rough hands, grabbing him and turning him over. Castiel gasped sharply and squeezed his eyes shut as the pain in his side flared white-hot. Dean's voice: "Cas, what's -" Stopped. "That's a lotta blood." Shaky, shocked. "Christ, that's a lotta blood. Shit…"

Sam. "How is this possible? I thought angels didn't –"

"I don't know. Cas, can you hear us? Cas?"

Slowly, Castiel managed to force open his eyes. "Dean," he grunted.

The first thing that swam into his watery vision was Dean's eyes, wide and concerned. "Cas, what happened? What happened to you?"

"Pierce – pierced my Grace," Castiel ground out, his hand clutching harder at his side. It felt wet and warm. "Be fine. Need time. Need rest."

Dean's face grew dark. "Was it Raphael? Raphael do this to you?"

"Sigils," he mumbled, a darkness crowding around the edge of his vision. "Hide…" Exhaustion weighed down his entire body and he closed his eyes again, tired, so tired…

Dean's hands fumbled at the buttons of his shirt. "You heard him. Sigils."

"We should take him to Bobby's," he heard Sam say. "Easier to defend –"

"We can't move him!" Dean snarled. "He's not healing himself, he's bleeding out –" and he peeled back the fabric, peeled back Castiel's hand.

They both went silent.

"Christ," Dean breathed.

Castiel opened his eyes again, but this time he saw only water-stained ceiling. He wanted to ask if it looked as bad as it felt but there was blood welling up in his throat and all he could choke out was a strangled, "Bad…"

"S'okay, Cas," Dean whispered hoarsely. He squeezed Castiel's arm. "We're gonna fix you up."

Castiel slipped into unconsciousness.

….

When Castiel awoke, he was somewhat improved. He still felt as though his bones had been filled with lead and his side ached horribly, but he also felt a strong confidence that he was going to recover – a confidence that had almost left him last night.

There was also a dark, empty hollow in his heart that had nothing to do with his physical wounds.

Dean was sprawled on the futon nearby, watching some television program about orange people with thick city accents living in a house together. Several times he made noises of disgust and snorted, but he made no move to change the channel.

"How long was I unconscious?" Castiel asked.

Dean started and sat up, staring wide-eyed. "Cas! You're awake! Thought we almost lost you there." He got up and walked over to the bed, anxious and energetic. "You were out for about a day, but you started to heal up after the first six hours so we called off the wake." He sat down on the edge of the bed and patted Castiel's knee, smirking. The smirk was doing a poor job of masking the concern that was clear as day in his face.

"You were worried," Castiel observed.

Dean chuckled, and looked downward. "Yeah, you know, it's funny. Usually I… well, I never worry about you. I always just _assume_…" He scratched his eyebrow. "That you're gonna be okay. That you're indestructible. Everybody else I worry about. Bobby, Sammy, Lisa and Ben, even Dad way back when… But you were always too damn resilient, and when you were gone it never occurred to me to wonder what had happened to you. But yesterday…" He raised his eyes to Castiel's. "You worried me, Cas. You had me really fucking worried."

For some reason, this oddly pleased Castiel. It was a small feeling, overwhelmed by the yawning void in his chest, but pleasant nonetheless.

"So how'd you get that hole punched through you?" Dean asked. "And more importantly, how long do we have until Raphael tracks us down?"

The empty hollow in Castiel's heart widened. The words came out of his mouth, but they felt as though they were spoken by a different person. "Raphael is dead."

Dean's eyes widened, and he hesitated before asking, "How?"

Castiel felt cold, and thought that he would never feel warm again. "I killed him."

_I killed him_.

Dean's adam's apple bobbed, and then his eyebrows furrowed. "You seem… upset."

_He begged for his life. He begged me to show him mercy but I knew, I knew he would never stop as long as lived and I killed him_.

_How many others have I killed? How many others pleaded, begged, _implored_ that I spare them? The things I have done, the creature I have become… I thought I was doing what was necessary but I no longer know if what I did was right. If the ends justify the means. I am as much of a monster as any of the brothers that I murdered_.

_I am no angel of the Lord. I am no angel of anyone_.

But instead of saying this aloud, he did something he'd never done before.

He cried.

He didn't realize it was happening, at first. His vision became blurry and his throat became tight, and then the warm dampness was spilling out of his eyes and down his cheeks.

"Cas," Dean whispered. "Hey…"

Castiel closed his eyes tightly, but the tears kept spilling out. His chest felt like it was snapping in half from the inside out and it hurt worse than the wound that had pierced his very Grace.

But then suddenly, Dean's weight on the bed shifted and moved and two arms were wrapping around him and holding him tightly, anchoring him to something real and substantial and _good_ and Castiel buried his face in Dean's neck, cried harder, clutched him back, let him rest his stubbly chin against Castiel's cheek, let him mutter soothing meaningless nothings into his ear. "S'alright, Cas, s'over, gonna be alright…"

In Dean's arms, Castiel could almost believe it was true.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: _Hello again and Happy New Year! My resolutions for this year are to sleep more, eat better, and be 5% more awesome. Oh, and finish this dang story before the next semester of college starts. How about you?_

_I've recently figured out how this story ends, btw, so I'm super happy with myself. Now the key is to make sure the characters don't derail my ending before we get there... This chapter itself was kind of a derailment, actually. The entire second half of the chapter was intended to be an exchange of a few sentences and then the characters had other ideas and things got crazy. So... yeah. I'm a slave to Dean and Cas, you guys - they're the ones in control. I merely do their humble bidding. _

_And thank you, thank you all for your awesome reviews! Did I mention that you'll all be getting your very own _hybrid animal_? Yes, that's right, I've found the two scientifically cutest animals, bunnies and penguins, and _cross bred_ them to make what _must_ be the cutest animal _ever_ - Bunnguins! It's science!_*

_Please keep reviewing, and if you haven't reviewed yet, this is your opportunity to be awesome. Don't let it pass you by! And now, without further ado, your chapter. Enjoy!_

*_Uh... I'm lookin' at the bunnguins now, and... yeah, they're abominations. They're definitely abominations. So, I'ma send you guys a nice fruit basket instead. _

* * *

For the next few days Cas was quiet, even for him. He was too weak to do much except walk stiffly around the motel room, so Dean did his best to keep him entertained. He read to him out of car magazines, introduced him to infomercials, brought him all the best newspapers and did his best to explain Sudoku. Sam made an effort, too, brought him a buncha cheap novels he bought at a thrift store, helped change his gauze. He even checked into the room next door so Dean wouldn't have to keep sleeping on the too-small futon, which was damn decent of him.

Cas was going to have a scar where Sam stitched him up, Dean could tell. He caught Cas inspecting the wound in the mirror once, staring at and tracing it with his fingers.

"Chicks dig scars," Dean had offered optimistically.

Cas just kept staring in the mirror, finally muttering, "I don't know that I want to be dug."

Dean had snorted and chuckled to himself, and then left Cas to his staring.

Presumably, it was all over now. Cas had won the civil war and once he was strong enough, he was going to go claim the throne. There were probably some pissed off Raphael followers who would love to take a piece out of his hide, but now that their leader was gone it would only be a matter of time before they quieted their grumblings and melted back into the ranks.

And yet, for the supposed victor of the struggle, Cas was… pretty damn glum. Depressed, really. Cas never explained what exactly had gone down between him and Raphael, and Dean never asked; it had to be gruesome to have shaken Cas that badly. He would talk about it when he was ready.

Dean knew what it was like to win the war and still lose everything. It had happened to him a year and a half ago. He knew that was Cas needed now was time and space and understanding.

_I can do that. I can give that to him_. _I can be what he needs_.

…

Cas read Stephen King's _The Dead Zone_ silently, nodding or shaking his head when Dean asked questions. He didn't complain when Dean opened up the latest issue of Hot Rod Magazine and began enthusiastically describing their exciting new engine swap, so Dean assumed he didn't mind. He sat on the futon with Dean and watched Looney Tunes. At some point Dean realized he was treating Cas like you treat a coma patient – you just keep smiling and nattering at them and pretending like they care what you're saying, just to fill up the silence, just in case they're listening.

After several of those silent days, though, Dean set down his burger and wiped his face with a napkin. "All right," he announced, "no more Mr. Nice Guy."

Cas looked up from his copy of _Carrie._

"Today is the day," Dean continued, "that _you_ are going to stop moping." He pointed his finger at Cas for extra emphasis.

Cas gazed placidly. "Or?" he inquired quietly.

Dean gave him his most serious look. "Or I start kicking your ass."

The faintest hint of amusement gleamed in Cas's eyes.

"See, you don't think that I can." Dean stood up from the table, cracked his knuckles and rolled his shoulders. "But you're on the DL, short stack, and I've been eatin' my Wheaties. I think I can take you." He put up his fists and took a fighting stance. "So you start talkin', or I start swingin'."

There, in Cas's face – Dean could see it. Cas was going for exasperated but he couldn't hide the fact that he found Dean's posturing utterly ludicrous. And maybe he was technically laughing _at _Dean, not with him, but he was laughing all the same (on the inside, of course).

Cas set down his book carefully. "I assume that 'DL' refers to my injury," he replied, "but I don't know what a Wheatie is."

"Breakfast of champions," Dean explained, smirking confidently. "Fulla vitamins and shit."

"I… see." Cas stood up and turned slightly away from Dean, and then his eyes flickered to peek at him sidelong. "I am – concerned for my safety."

"You better be," Dean retorted, trying hard not to crack up at Cas's attempt at lying. "Cuz I'm gonna – "

And suddenly Dean was flat on the floor, the wind knocked out of him, Cas's knee lodged in his stomach, his wrists pinned up above his head, and Cas's eyes locked on his with an unmistakably predatory sharpness.

"Hmmm," Cas mused softly. "Too many pizzas, not enough Wheaties."

"Are you – " Dean was struggling to catch his breath, his pulse racing for more than one reason. "Are you calling me fat?"

He raised his eyebrows. "No. I'm merely implying it."

Dean bared his teeth. "Listen, you little –" He yanked his wrists with all his might, wriggled and squirmed and tried to slip out from underneath Cas, all in vain. The angel would not budge. "Lemme go!" he demanded.

"Why?" Cas asked, seeming to exert no effort at all. "So you can 'kick my ass'?"

There was a beat of silence as Dean glowered at a table leg, refusing to meet Cas's eyes. "Yes," he muttered sullenly.

And then, quiet and low, Cas began to chuckle.

Dean wasn't sure he'd ever heard Cas _chuckle _before.

Cas's hands rested warm on his wrists and that gravelly voice commanded, "Dean. Look at me."

Reluctantly, Dean turned his eyes to Cas's.

"I'm sorry." There was still a smile hovering around the edge of his lips, but his eyes were sincere. "For implying."

"Yeah, well." Dean found his voice scratchy, cleared his throat. "My self-esteem ain't that delicate. I know I'm sexy."

Cas's gaze seemed to focus even sharper, like a cat on a mouse. His fingers pressed tighter into Dean's wrists. "_Yes_," he exhaled, almost a hiss. "You are."

Dean's mouth went dry.

And then he was lying on the floor alone, suddenly cold. He sat up and looked around. No sign of Cas, naturally. Apparently he'd healed up enough to fly.

Dean rubbed his wrists and smiled.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N:_ Guess what? A slightly longer chapter! Yaaaaaaaay! Also, my characters are already trying to derail my ending. All they want to do is boink each other's brains out, and I have to be the bad guy who says, "Ah ah ah, you promised you were gonna let me tell this story. Remember?" _

_And then Cas makes these big blue puppy eyes and looks at me so very, very sadly, and I forget whatever I was saying and write them a little extra somethin'-somethin'. _

_In fact, all of the frustration I've put these guys through is making me seriously consider writing an unpardonably and gratuitously smutty AU one-shot. I've never done it before, but I keep getting these ideas about... Dean being a prostitute... and Cas being an inexperienced john looking for help with his slight "hair trigger" problem? I know, I know, it makes no sense, but I can't get it out of my head. I think it has to do with the fact that he wears a trenchcoat. I mean, come on. He already dresses like a john. _

_I don't think I can write it, though - my conception for it is waaaay too graphic. I'm blushing just thinking about it. And it really has no connection to their relationship on the show, which is what I aim for. But hey, if any of you guys are looking for a prompt, it's up for grabs. Go nuts! _

_Finally: your reviews were lovely, and charming, and not terribly alarming, and in fact it's quite disarming to hear that I am not harming when I write of... dairy farming? Damn it, I ran out of rhymes. Anyways, I love you all and appreciate you and _pleaaaaaase _keep reviewing because you fill up a void in my otherwise boring life. _

_Onward and outward! _

* * *

"Yeah, well." Dean found his voice scratchy, cleared his throat. "My self-esteem ain't that delicate. I know I'm sexy."

Cas gaze seemed to focus even sharper, like a cat on a mouse. His fingers pressed tighter into Dean's wrists. "Yesss," he whispered, almost a hiss. "You are."

Dean's mouth went dry.

Cas moved his knee, and suddenly he was straddling Dean, leaning down closer, breathing Dean's air, his irises almost swallowed by black pupil. He let go of Dean's wrists and moved one hand to the carpet above his shoulder, dragging the other down Dean's chest.

Dean was finding it hard to breathe evenly, and his clothes felt constricting and abrasive on his skin. "You're really not gonna let me up, are you?" he asked.

Cas's eyes grew even blacker, if that was possible. "No." His hand slid down to the waistband of Dean's jeans.

Dean sucked in a ragged lungful of air and tried to keep cool, because losing it right now would be beyond premature. "How is it that you always get me so hot and bothered?"

The edge of Dean's shirt had ridden up, and Cas ran his hand along the exposed skin there. "Because you know I'm strong enough hurt you," he murmured. "But I'm the one person in the world you believe when I promise that I won't."

Dean blinked. That was… deep.

Cas's fingers played along his fly, not really unbuttoning, just perusing. "Be vulnerable for me, Dean," he breathed, his eyes so intent on Dean's it was almost painful. "Trust me."

Dean's heart skipped a beat.

"Yeah." He nodded. "Okay."

"I've kicked your ass…" Cas jerked off his tie and cast it on the floor. "And now I'm going to take names."

"Take it," Dean panted. "Fucking take it already."

…..

When Dean woke up, he remembered every detail of his dream. Crazy as it seemed, he knew he'd just figured out something important.

_It could be a sign that, subconsciously, there's something you need, something that salad represents_.

All these dreams about Cas overpowering him, taking control, exerting his strength… maybe it wasn't really about that. Maybe it was about the fact that in every single dream, he should have been terrified, at least _nervous_, should've been shaking in his boots instead of weak in the knees. He should have gotten defensive and fought back tooth and nail, no matter how vain it was.

But he hadn't. He'd trusted Cas. He'd _let_ himself be weak.

Maybe that's what he needed in his life – someone who he didn't have to keep his guard up around, someone he didn't have to be strong for, someone he could trust not to hurt him.

Maybe that someone was Cas.

…..

Cas showed up later that afternoon in Dean's motel room, where he and Sam were in the midst of research. A brief gust of wind and then he was standing next to the futon, looking weary.

"Hey," Dean greeted him, glancing up from his book. "Where you been?"

"Heaven," he answered shortly. He grabbed the remote and sat himself down on the futon.

Dean and Sam exchanged a glance. "Wanna talk about it?" Sam inquired.

Cas's eyes were already intent on the screen, peering into the TV set like it held the answers to all his problems. "Not particularly."

Sam made his _Huh, okay_ face and returned to his laptop.

Dean watched Cas for a moment longer, and eventually resumed his reading.

Hours later, after Sam left, he moved to the futon next to Cas. That was the one nice thing about research – you could do it just about anywhere. He struck up conversation with Cas about the shows he'd been watching, and eventually hit paydirt when Cas launched into a lengthy diatribe on the mind-boggling narcissism of reality programming.

Now he was watching Looney Tunes, and though Dean had explained the concept of its humor to him before, he still watched it with and deep and disturbed frown on etched into his face, as though it were some kind of complex mind-puzzle he was trying to work out. Every once in awhile he'd mutter to himself, "Well, _that_ is impossible."

From time to time Dean would realize that he'd stopped researching and started just watching Cas, watching his reactions to what was happening on screen. Everything was new to him, unexpected and mysterious, and though Bugs Bunny was pretty formulaic it still managed to throw him a few curveballs. When the classic episode parodying Wagnerian opera began, Cas's eyebrows shot up and Dean could practically see the baffled questions on the tip of his tongue. _Why are they singing? What are the helmets for? Can't this Fudd character tell that the rabbit dressed as woman is still a _rabbit_?_

It was damn entertaining – for Dean, anyway. He could watch Cas all night long and not get bored.

He _wanted_ to watch Cas all night long. Perhaps engaged in… some other activity…

_Low key, low key, low key_, his conscience chanted. _Remember what you told him? Middle school, Dean, middle school. _ Reluctantly he went back to reading about horrible bloody deaths.

It got dark and late, and soon the blue-green glow of the TV was Dean's only reading light. He didn't mind. He was used to it. Slowly but surely he and Cas had migrated together on the futon to the point where their thighs were touching, and the arm Dean had slung around the back of the futon had somehow slid inconspicuously around Cas's shoulder area. If Cas had noticed, he didn't show it.

Dean finally threw subtlety out the window and let his hand slip up into Cas's hair, gently carding it and stroking the back of his scalp with his fingertips.

Cas didn't react. At all.

He gave up any pretense of reading and fixed Cas with an intent gaze specifically designed to light the torch of any unsuspecting recipient. _No one can resist the Winchester smolder_.

Finally Cas spoke. "I have a question."

Dean waited patiently, stroking his hair softly. "Mmhmm."

Cas was still frowning absorbedly at the screen. "Why does the coyote continue to buy from Acme?"

Dean stared.

Cas kept watching.

In that moment, there were a million things Dean wanted to say.

_JESUS H. CHRIST, YOU ARE THE DENSEST ANGEL EVER TO LIVE. _

_You're fucking adorable. I mean it. _

_Cas, there's an old saying, and it goes, "Turn off the goddamn cartoons and get naked already, you moron." _

_Why are you here? I mean, why are you _here_? With me? _

_Seriously, tell me what happened in Heaven._

_I think I'm falling a little bit in love with you. _

But instead, what came out was a tentative and quiet, "Cas. Can I kiss you?"

Slowly, Cas turned his head to look at Dean, the frown growing even more confused. "Why are you asking permission?"

Every nerve in Dean's body was on edge, his uncertainty growing into out-and-out _worry _that Cas was about to reject him. "Because I want to know if it's okay. If you're okay. If… _we're_ okay."

And then Cas's brows smoothed out, and his eyes softened, and he murmured, "Perhaps you should kiss me and find out."

Dean grabbed the remote, switched off the TV, and went for it.

They kissed on the futon for some time, soft and long and lazy. They had all the time in the world for once in their lives, and there was no need to rush. Cas's mouth was warm and addicting and head-rushing like he remembered and he dizzily realized _I haven't just _kissed_ someone for this long in years_.

Cas started out more subdued than before, letting Dean press into him and content to follow his lead. After awhile, though, he heated up and seemed to want more, press more, moan more, chase Dean's lips and wander his hand up Dean's shirt and push Dean into the cushions and then it wasn't just his hand that was wandering it was his _mouth_, his mouth moving from the corner of Dean's lips to his jawline, his neck, his throat, kissing and licking and _biting_ –

"Unnh, Cas, wait," Dean groaned, hating himself already. He grabbed Cas's wandering hand and tried to catch his breath. "We're – uhngh – oh God – low key, remember?"

Cas paused, lifted his head. His mouth was all pink and swollen, and Christ. _So damn fuckable_. "Yes," he agreed slowly. "I remember."

They both collapsed back on the futon, disappointment hanging heavy in the air. Dean was having a hard time recalling why he'd suggested such a stupid-ass agreement in the first place, but he'd learned from experience that you should never override big brain decisions with your little brain. He wracked his mind for something to talk about, anything.

Wait.

"So what's the deal with Heaven?"

Cas's head lolled back on the futon, his eyes turning ceilingward. "I returned to make sure that my supporters knew I was alive."

"Hmm." Dean closed his eyes, suddenly feeling how late it was. "Makes sense."

"I think the war is ended." His voice was heavy and hesitant. "I… have much business to take care of in my new position."

"Mmm." Dean's heart sank, thinking of the many months Cas had been too busy with war in Heaven to even talk to Sam. He'd sort of hoped that would change, but. Well. Maybe not. Maybe Cas would have to leave again, for a long time.

_That's why we said low key_.

"But I think things will be different." Cas sounded cautious, wary. "I think life will become more regular, predictable. I will be able to spend more time on earth, if I want." He hesitated. "Would you… like that?"

Dean's eyes snapped open. "Yeah, of course I'd like that," he answered incredulously.

Cas's relief was obvious. "Good."

"Did you –" Dean sat up. "Did you seriously have to ask?"

Cas looked him in the eye. "Did you?"

_Because I want to know if it's okay. If you're okay. If… _we're _okay._

Something in Dean's chest squeezed tight and warm.

_Yeah, we're okay_.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: _My beautiful, wonderful readers. As a sun is to a flower, so you are to me. This chapter - _this chapter_ has been an absolute nightmare. I was just watching season 4 with my siblings and we saw Monster at the End of This Book. Chuck (God?) puts it perfectly: "If I were psychic, do you think I'd be writing?" he demands. "Writing is _hard_." Now, usually writing comes fairly easy to me but when I come to an important part of the story that I want to get _absolutely right_, things get friggin' difficult. I actually wrote this chapter a day ago, scrapped the _entire thing_ and started over to bring you what I ended up with here. I've read it over a few times and tweaked it but the second I post it I'm sure I'm going to decide it's all wrong and that I'm the worst writer that ever lived,* so... please review and let me know what you think. _

_I shall keep you in suspense no longer. Here is your chapter - hopefully it's not too horrific. *gulp*  
_

_*Actually, no one can top Chuck. "With determination, Dean lifted his finger and pushed the doorbell... with determination." _

* * *

The weeks passed, a job came and went, motels changed. Cas made time for Dean and though it was usually at odd hours, those were the kind of hours Dean kept anyways. Ever since that night on the futon, Cas backed off on his own when things started to get heated, which was… kind of disappointing, since Dean was kind of… ready, now. These warm and fuzzy feelings he didn't want to acknowledge had been growing in his chest and digging their roots into him deep, and sometimes it was all he could do not to tackle Cas and spout girly poetry and violate him thoroughly.

But hey. Cas was calling the shots. Maybe he had doubts about jumping into the sack (or maybe he had doubts about Dean… but Dean didn't want to think about that). And honestly, the kissing and hand-holding and laying together and watching TV – it was kind of enough.

Sure, Dean still occasionally had crazy dreams about Cas giving him a once-over, but it was different now. They were less intense, less urgent. He had dreams about Cas taking him long and slow in the shower, steam and sweat and wet bodies; Dean jerking them off together in the Impala at night, the windows fogged up and the dense quiet broken by their noises. But they were much less frequent than before, and he didn't feel unsatisfied by what he and Cas had. Like he said, it was kind of enough.

All in all, life was pretty good; just about as good as it could get for a Winchester, really.

…..

"Another beer," Dean urged, gesturing to the bartender.

"Noooooo, I'm done," Sam groaned, sliding off the barstool. "Any more and I'll be seriously drunk."

"Saaaaam," Dean cajoled him. "You're barely even tipsy. We gotta drink to a job well done!"

Sam laughed and slid on his jacket. "We already did. C'mon, let's hit the hay."

"Nah, Sammy, you go on. I'm stayin'." Dean waved him away. "I'm not even buzzed yet."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "That's what you always say."

"Shuddup."

So Dean stayed at the bar alone for awhile. He hadn't been lying to Sammy, he was barely feeling it; just enough to make him a little warm, feel a little friendly, a little talkative. Nothing near tipsy. Probably because he was working on a bottle of beer instead of a fifth of Jack, but he didn't feel like getting legitimately _drunk _tonight.

There was a sweet little brunette thing at the other end of the bar making eyes at him. He was trying to ignore her but she had these – these fantastic tits, smooth and round and exposed by her lacy camisole, and it suddenly occurred to him that he hadn't had sex since the last time he'd slept with Lisa.

So long, so long since he'd handled a nice rack like that one…

_Play your cards right with Cas, and you might never fondle a breast _ever again.

The thought struck terror into him like a bolt of lightning, and suddenly had to go for a walk, clear his head. It had been one thing to think about monogamy with Lisa. She had boobs. But Cas, Cas did not and though he had other things that Dean appreciated there was maybe nothing else in the whole wide world that Dean had appreciated for as long and as fervently as breasts. To never…. not even once….

He had a strange vision in his imagination, a picture of himself in a hospital bed, hooked up to a heart monitor, Sammy and Bobby sitting worried at his bedside. And then the doctor comes in with his charts, and he says to them gravely, "Well, he's in stable condition, and it looks like he's going to make it. But I'm afraid that… he may never touch a breast again." And Sammy weeps, and Bobby curses the sky and demands to know what kind of God would do this to their Dean.

_Yup. I've officially had too much to drink. Time for a walk_.

Of course, the second he slid off the barstool he had to piss like a racehorse, so he headed for the men's room. A couple minutes later he was zipping back up and he turned around, where lo and behold stood –

The little brunette.

"Hey," she greeted him, sidling up close. She smiled coyly, pressed those lovely melons against his chest.

"Hey, uh, I think you got the wrong idea," he warned her, stumbling backwards and finding himself against a stall door.

"Or maybe the right one," she murmured, sliding her hand up his arm. "I saw you looking." And her hand slid back down, took him by the wrist. "They're real, you know." And she placed his hand on her breast and kissed him.

Oh, they were real. So very, very real. And so were her lips…

_Wait! No! BAD!_ He broke away, pushed her off of him. "I said _wrong idea_, sweetheart," he growled.

She scowled. "Screw you. If you don't want a girl, don't ogle her."

"I didn't mean to," he apologized. "You just have – very nice assets there." He chuckled nervously. "Very… _prominent _assets."

Suddenly, a deep, steely voice asked, "Am I interrupting something?"

Dean froze. He didn't even have to look, but he did anyways.

Cas looked furious.

The chick glared and stormed out of the bathroom.

Dean felt a sweat break out on his forehead. "What are you doing here?" he demanded, knowing instantly that it was the wrong thing to say.

Cas's glower deepened, and he answered. "Sam said you were at the bar. The bartender said you were in here. With a woman."

_Shit_. Dean rubbed his forehead. "Cas, I know it looks –"

"I'll tell you how it _looks_," he interrupted, stepping closer, his face thunder and his eyes lightning. "It looks _sickening_. If it were Lisa I could understand, but some – some gin-soaked _whore _in a men's bathroom?"

"Nothing happened," Dean insisted, beginning to panic. "I swear, Cas, nothing happened."

Cas stepped forward again, right into Dean's bubble. "Then why," he whispered, quiet and harsh, "do you have her lip gloss on your mouth?"

_Shit shit shit_. He rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. "She kissed me, but I pushed her away! I didn't kiss her back, Cas, you gotta believe me."

Cas grabbed him by the shoulder.

They were in the motel room.

He gazed at Dean, and beneath the boiling anger Dean could see all the hurt in those blue eyes. "Is this why you said 'low key'?" he snarled, shoving Dean so hard that he stumbled backwards into the wall. "Because I'm some kind of – _compromise_ to you?" His breathing came hard and fast. "Kissing the angel is acceptable, as long as you don't have to fuck him."

"No!" Dean shouted, growing angry. "Christ, Cas, give me a chance to explain myself!"

"Then explain." Cas closed in again, trapped Dean against the wall, his teeth bared. "Tell me _why_. Tell the _truth_."

Dean took a deep breath. "That chick," he began slowly, "got the wrong idea, and I told her so. She kissed me, nothing more. You can go back and ask her if you want; she'll tell you the same thing."

Cas's eyes were locked on his, hard and searching.

"And the _reason_ that I suggested we take things slow is because I've screwed up every other relationship I've been in." He swallowed. "And it is more important than _anything _to me that I not screw things up with you." He met Cas's gaze, refused to look away. "Now you tell me if I'm lyin'."

Cas stared for a long moment.

His adam's apple bobbed.

He turned his head away and pressed his lips together, closing his eyes.

"Cas."

He shook his head. "I'm not supposed to feel these kinds of emotions," he said bitterly, voice torn and rough. "Did you know that? I'm not supposed to be _capable_."

There was a sharp ache in Dean's chest and he said, "Cas."

"And you, _you_ do it to me." An incredulous tone crept into his voice, and he turned back to Dean. "Thirty seconds with you and I'm a wildly swinging pendulum of pride and grief and jealousy and – love." The last word hitched before it fell from his lips, and he looked so damn chagrined and laid bare for having said it.

The aching pain intensified and stung in his eyes and all Dean could do was plead, "_Cas_."

Cas finally seemed to listen.

"It's only gonna get worse from here," he began shakily. "Okay? That's the truth. Tonight was just a – a sneak preview of the many ways I'm going to royally fuck up. But if, in spite of all that, you still wanna be with me…" Even as he felt that damn tickling behind his nose and telltale dampness in his eyes, he couldn't help but crack a self-conscious smile. "I'm yours, Cas. Full on, Jason Mraz yours."

And then he pulled up his sleeve, took Cas's right hand and slid it up to the perfectly fitting scar on his shoulder.

Cas watched, inhaled raggedly.

When Dean spoke again, his voice came out in a scratchy whisper. "I've _always_ been yours."

Cas's bright blue eyes turned to his.

Electricity crackled in the air. Not like some dumbass metaphor, _real_ frickin' electricity.

Slowly he moved closer, pressed into Dean, his hand grasping Dean's shoulder, heat radiating off of him and into Dean.

"Mine," he rasped. "Completely?"

"Yes," Dean breathed. "I mean it."

And Cas kissed him, hard and fervent, and Dean could feel all his fear and worry and _need_ and he kissed back, slid his hand against his neck and kissed back _I'm yours_, _I'm yours_, let Cas's leg slide between his and pin him against the wall, kissed him so hard it almost hurt and groaned when Cas's tongue did that thing it was so good at doing.

"Dean," Cas gasped, "I'm yours too." He kissed him again, broke away for a second. "Wholly yours." When their mouths met again he rolled his hips against Dean's, and the rough friction felt _so goddamn_ _good_ –

_Low key low key low key low key low key low key – _

_Fuck that. _

_Fuck me. _

_No seriously, _fuck me_._

Cas's fingers tightened on Dean's scar.

A minute and a half later, they were both naked. Forty minutes later, they finally made it to a bed. And it wasn't until the next morning that Dean realized that he'd said those last two words out loud.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: _My readers._ My readers_. I love you so very much. Your reviews have been so fabulous and so awesome and I know I keep saying it all the time but I just have to reiterate it - I LOVE YOU. Because I love you so much, I wrote you this extra smutty epilogue_._ I hope you like it because it is for you and also there is boysexing. _

_This is the final chapter of this particular saga, and it was all made possible by you readers, so thanks. I know we'll meet again soon, but when, I don't know. I'd like to wait and see what happens with Cas's war in heaven in the canon before writing a new one, but we'll see. _

_All in all, it's been a lovely ride. Enjoy!_

_

* * *

_

"Oh, _fuck_," Dean groaned, his fingertips digging into the grout of the shower wall.

"Is that a curse or a request?" Cas panted, his breath heavy on the back of Dean's neck.

"Both," he grunted, rocking backwards insistently. "Christ, Cas, if you don't start going a little faster I'm gonna _die_." He was so frustratingly close, and goddamn it was _good_ but he needed more, so much fucking more…

An infuriatingly steely hand on his hip kept things at Cas's pace, however. "Be careful what you wish for, Dean," he growled.

Dean grinned and braced himself. "Try me."

He could practically _hear_ Cas's engine revving.

Suddenly Cas was thrusting fast and hard and mind-blowing and Dean opened his mouth to speak but all that would come out were some broken-sounding moans and an embarrassing stream of needy expletives. "Shit Cas oh fucking GODDAMN ahnngh Cas fuck UNGHN CHRIST!"

"Fast - enough?" Cas inquired breathlessly.

"Hell no!" he gasped, the previous concern that he was going to die of frustration having been replaced by the absolute _certainty_ that he was going to die of massive heart failure. "So much better – SHIT CAS _ahnnnngh_ – so much better than in my head…"

"Your head?" Cas grunted.

"I've played this – OH FFFFFUCK, YEAH, _unghnff_ oh goddamn goddamn Cas – played this in my mind a dozen – SHIT, a HUNDRED FUCKING TIMES HOLY FUCK _YES!_"

And suddenly Cas was coming, followed a few short hard thrusts later by Dean, who came so hard that he had tunnel vision and thought maybe he _was_, in fact, dying by orgasm. _Best death ever_. He rested his forehead against the cool tile. "Cas?" he wheezed. "You're awesome."

Cas's arms slid around his midsection, and he rested his head on Dean's shoulder. The shower fell silent except for the hiss of spraying water and their ragged breathing slowing down.

Then, in the quiet, Dean heard him.

"I love you."

A lump rose in his throat.

He slid his hand over Cas's. "Right back atcha."

….

Sam had texted earlier that morning about a possible job, but Dean just texted back _Busy. See you this afternoon_. Therefore it came as no surprise that he came knocking around one o'clock bearing food.

"Everybody decent?" he quipped when Dean opened the door.

Dean ignored him and snatched the paper bag from his hand. "You brought grub? I have trained you well, young grasshopper." He dug out a burger and tossed the rest on the table. "Cas zapped back to the office, and I'm already bored brainless, so… what's this about a job?"

"Well, I saw something in the local paper about a murder-suicide by chainsaw," Sam explained. "I thought it might be worth looking into." He smiled smugly. "Unless, of course, you lovebirds are too busy…"

"Sam, please." Dean glared indignantly. "I find the term 'lovebirds' to be offensive. We prefer to be called 'sex-falcons'."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Right." Then he seemed to register what Dean was saying. "Wait, so you guys are– having –"

"Like rabbits," Dean confirmed proudly, unable to restrain a lascivious smirk. "_Horny _rabbits."

Sam grimaced and protested, "I get the picture, Dean! No need to illustrate any further!"

He chuckled and took a large bite of his burger.

"But… does this mean you guys are official?" he asked cautiously.

"Whaffyou meangh?" Dean inquired through a half-chewed mouthful.

Sam's face was all screwed up, like it was taking an effort to out-and-out say it. "Like… are you guys… boyfriends? Or…"

Dean choked.

Sam's eyes went wide. "Dude, you okay?"

Dean waved him off, pounded his chest, gulped in some air. "Went down the wrong pipe," he croaked. "M'fine."

Sam watched him dubiously. "Well, you know, you did die that one time."

"Trickster!" he protested. "Anyways, as for your question… Look, I don't know. We don't sit around discussing how we're gonna label ourselves on this year's Christmas card, alright? But we're – together, and exclusive, and – long term. However you wanna slice it and dice it, that's what it comes down to."

Sam nodded. "Good."

"Good?" Dean arched an eyebrow. "Like you have any say in it?"

"Oh, trust me," Sam retorted, "I have a say in it. I'm the one that has to live with you twenty-four seven, remember?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean demanded.

"That _means_ that everyone you get serious about automatically becomes a part of my life," Sam elaborated. "Lucky for you, I like Cas."

"Lucky for – lucky for –" Dean sputtered. "_You're _the lucky one that I don't kick your _ass!_"

Sam smiled condescendingly. "That's adorable."

Dean clenched his fists.

….

"Owwww," Sam groaned.

"Shut your cakehole, baby," Dean groaned in return. He'd forgotten how freakin' _huge_ Sammy was.

"Truce?" he suggested.

"Yeah," Dean sighed. "Truce."

Sammy dragged himself up onto the table and to his laptop. "I think you bruised my lungs."

"You _bit _me!" Dean accused.

Sam touched his face tenderly and winced. "Only a little." And then his eyes slid to Dean and he said, "Seriously, though. I'm happy for you."

Dean nodded, and that stupid lump was back in this throat – or maybe it was just swelling from Sammy's chokehold. "Thanks."

He opened up his laptop. "Now back to the job…"

And Dean realized that he was wrong before – _this_ was about as good as gets. Not just for a Winchester, for _anybody_. Life was really fucking good.

...

The End.


End file.
